


Dovah Queen - Dragonborn Rising

by HarperPotts



Series: Dovah Queen [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Daenerys Went Mad But She's Better Now, Elder Scrolls Lore, Gen, No Skyrim Knowledge Required, Post-Season/Series 08 Finale, Redemption Must Be Earned
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-01
Updated: 2019-12-01
Packaged: 2021-02-25 06:07:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 29
Words: 114,884
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21631348
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HarperPotts/pseuds/HarperPotts
Summary: Daenerys Targaryen finally achieved her dream of winning the Iron Thone, only to be killed by a dagger to a heart. Yet, that is not the end of her story. Her tale continues in the land of Tamriel in Skyrim where she will be given a new title: DovahkiinThis premise is simple, Daenerys is the Dovahkiin. How did she get to Skyrim? Read and find out. I will let you know that while there may be similar events as to the plotline in Skyrim, this is based on the game lore and not game mechanics. I will be smoothing out the game elements and trying to present Skyrim as a real world. That means things like characters can freeze to death in brutal winters, it takes more than a few hours to walk between cities, and Daenerys won’t master skills overnight. There are a ridiculous number of storylines and quests in Skyrim. I can safely say that Daenerys won’t do them all. I’ll be hitting some of my favorites, but diving into every dungeon would get boring and repetitive quickly. In particular, be aware that the main questline won’t come down like a ton of bricks.Knowledge of Skyrim is NOT required.  The world will be explained as the story unfolds.
Series: Dovah Queen [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1559446
Comments: 94
Kudos: 116





	1. Prologue

  
**Prologue**

Sundas, the 17th of Last Seed, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Once again Ralof studied the girl across from him. It wasn't like there was much else to do tied up in the back of this cart. Listen to the clip-clop of hoofbeats on cobblestone. Stare at the passing trees and wildlife. Exchange knowing glances with the true High King. Listen to the horsethief whine and complain. Study the girl.

She didn't belong with them. The braiding in her hair alone made that clear. Not that Nord girls didn't braid their hair, but her braids were far too fancy and intricate. She was the daughter of wealth. Perhaps a minor noble or a rich merchant's daughter fleeing an arranged marriage? Yet she was dressed in prisoner's sackcloth and covered from crown to feet in ashes. The soles of her feet were raw and bloody bad enough that her wounds would fester although it was doubtful she'd live long enough for that to happen.

The cart hit a washout and dropped at least a hand.

The girl startled awake. "Skoriot issi īlon?"

"I'm sorry lass. I don't speak that tongue"

"What language is that even?" asked the horsethief.

Ralof glanced at his king. Ulfric shrugged. "Nothing from around here." Ulfric was a learned man. If he didn't know, then what hope did they have?

"Tat yer tiholat Dothraki?" Doth thou wot Westerosi?" babbled the girl.

That sounded like two different languages from the lilt of them. One harsh and angry, one softer.

"What is that jibber gab?" asked the thief.

"How would I know? I'm just a soldier." He had no more idea where she was from than she had of what she'd been swept up in. She looked like a Nord with her pale blonde hair, but no daughter of Skyrim would shiver so much on a warm summer's morning. Plus, her violet eyes and delicate features spoke of mer blood. Maybe a Breton?

She sighed deeply, brought up her bound hands, and tapped her chest. "Daenerys."

He tapped his own chest. "Ralof." It wouldn't change anything, but it was better than thinking about what would happen at the end of the ride.


	2. Chapter 1

# Chapter 1

Morndas, the 22nd of Heart Fire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

How had her life come to this? Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, The Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Uncrowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, Mother of Dragons, and now Tavern Wench of the Sleeping Giant Inn.

As far as inns went, it was far from the worst. The walls were solid wood and the thatch roof kept out the rain. The floors were clean, as she knew well from her constant sweeping. There were no rats or those hellspawn skeevers in the walls. No dogs were allowed. Sven, the town’s aspiring bard, only knew five songs, but at least he sang those five well. The food was simple, but filling. No one mistook her for a whore. Some of the men had wandering hands, but only to her, ass and a firm no dissuaded most of them. She had slapped Embry, the town drunk, once when he hadn’t backed off. Both Orgnar the Barkeep and Alvor the Smith had surged to their feet, marched him outside, and dunked him in the rain barrel. The folk of Riverwood were simple, but earnest. Yet, she’d been meant for so much more.

She’d birthed dragons, set slaves free, ruled a city, led armies, fought and won wars… slaughtered tens if not hundreds of thousands of plain smallfolk like those who lived in this sleepy little village in her quest for power. The same smallfolk she swore to protect from tyrants. She deserved much worse. These people laughed and joked. They smiled at her broken Tamrielic and corrected her without malice. They were simple folk, like the ones she’d slaughtered. After weeks of being in Skyrim, she could no longer even fathom why she had destroyed King’s Landing.

She remembered feeling trapped, cut-off, alone, and isolated. Gentle, innocent, Missandei had been slaughtered and urged vengeance with her dying breath. Her most trusted advisers turned from her. Varys tried to poison her. Even Jon had pushed her away. She had thought the burning of King’s Landing was necessary, but why? Had she gone mad? Surely, there had been other ways. She could have married Jon and ruled as equals, or merely knocked down the Red Keep and left the smallfolk alone. Even if it had been the only way, the cost hadn’t been worth it. She had become the wheel, instead of breaking it. Jon had betrayed her, but she could no longer blame him. She had betrayed herself first.

Now she lived with Hod and Gerdur and waited tables when Delphine was out of town, which was often. It wasn’t a bad life. She didn’t want to go back to being the obsessed mad queen that she’d become. But, she couldn’t help but feel as though there was more to her life than cooking, serving, and fending off drunken advances.

Someone, some power, had interfered to bring her here to this foreign land. It couldn’t be a coincidence that dragons were just now returning to this world called Tamriel. Strange dragons that spoke words of power, but they were still dragons. One had intervened to spare her, but for the life of her, she couldn’t fathom why. She wasn’t a queen or a player in the game of thrones any longer. She was a piece on a different board – a pawn that could be easily sacrificed. This land had a long and convoluted history, she could just grasp the reasons for the latest rebellion, but not the deeper currents. Someone had put her on the board, and it frightened her.

The door opened admitting a stern woman with strawberry blonde hair wearing leather armor, Delphine, the owner of the Sleeping Giant Inn and her employer. Although Delphine tried to hide it when she wore a dress, she had the walk and mien of someone dangerous. She obviously knew how to use a sword and how to fight. The mere fact that she dared the roads of Skyrim alone and survived proved she was far more than she tried to appear to be.

“Delphine, you’re back,” called Orgnar. The barkeep was as much a master of the obvious as Delphine was a mystery.

Delphine nodded. “I see you managed not to burn the place down while I was gone.” She turned to Daenerys. “I’d like to wash the dust of the road off me. Fetch me a fresh bucket from the river.”

“Right away.” Even after a few weeks, it still grated on Daenerys to be sent off on menial tasks like this, but the woman was her employer. Gerdur claimed that three septims a day and tips was an excellent wage for a tavern wench. Nevertheless, it wasn’t the way she wanted to spend the rest of her life. At first, she had just needed to learn the language, but she knew enough to get by now. Yet still she lingered, without real direction.

She approached the river cautiously, keeping a sharp eye out for mudcrabs. The small ones could cut off a toe with their claws. The large ones could take off a foot. There were no mudcrabs by the river today, so she drew a bucket of water, returned, and knocked on the door for admittance.

“Enter,” called her employer.

She stepped inside, not letting the door swing too far open. She found her employer stark naked and waiting on her. She passed over the bucket. “Your water.”

“Thanks.”

Daenerys averted her eyes, not because Delphine’s nudity bothered her any, but because it gave her an excuse to look around. Daenerys was certain that this room had a concealed entrance somewhere. As a waitress, one of her jobs was fetching wine and mead from the taproom and food from the larder. Both rooms were located in the basement. There were three rooms in the basement, which ran the length of the inn, but there was a section closed off by walls with no entrance. That closed-off section lay beneath this room. Perhaps it was just a hidden vault, which was an understandable precaution. But there was something about Delphine that reminded her of Varys; she was a woman of secrets within secrets. They were most likely minor secrets that didn’t concern her, such as smuggling skoona, whatever that was. Regardless, secrets had power. After all, it was a secret that had pushed her down the road to ruin.

“Anything interesting happen while I was away?” The sounds of water splashing made it clear Delphine was washing.

“No, this is Riverwood. I don’t think anything interesting has ever happened here.” It was a sentiment most of the smallfolk shared.

Delphine chuckled. “You’d be surprised. I heard an interesting tale in Whiterun. Rumors are circulating about Helgen. Some talk about a blonde girl who walked through dragonfire unharmed.”

Daenerys looked up, trying to read Delphine’s face. How much did she know? “You already knew I escaped from Helgen. I’m sure I’m far from the only girl who did. Blondes are not exactly uncommon among Nords.”

“True enough, but Helgen was an Imperial outpost. There aren’t many blonde Imperials. You know, you still haven’t said where exactly you are from.” She said it casually as she washed, like she was simply curious.

“I prefer not to talk about it.” That was the line she had used ever since she had enough words of their tongue to answer. She wasn’t sure it would hold up this time.

Delphine caught her gaze. “Daenerys, were you the girl? The one whose clothes burned away and yet survived?”

Daenerys frowned. Delphine had probed her before, but never as bluntly as this. “If I was, it might simply be that I have a talent for fire magic.” Which was possible in this world. Magic was more a trade in Tamriel than a mystery. “I certainly don’t like these stories floating about. Ulfric was there and someone might investigate these rumors. Imperials aren’t exactly known for gentle investigations.”

Delphine barked a laugh. “No, they aren’t. Perhaps the time has come for you to move on, Daenerys.”

She felt a chill that had nothing to do with the approaching winter. She was very much afraid that Delphine was right.


	3. Chapter 2

# Chapter 2

Turdas, the 25th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

There were many things about the village of Riverwood that puzzled Daenerys. One of which was the layout and defenses of the town itself. Stone walls served as gates to the village entrances. While not the most defensible placements, the elevated walkways did offer some cover for archers. However, the town wasn't completely walled in. Someone could easily just walk through the gaps in the walls, or swim across the river to enter the town. In fact, someone had done exactly that and robbed the Riverwood Trader. Thankfully, the thief had only stolen a particularly valuable golden claw instead of slitting the throats of Lucan Valerius and his sister Camilia before leaving with everything he could carry. That this burglar had only been a sneak thief didn’t help her rest any easier at night. It was far too easy for anyone to just walk into town.

The town was called Riverwood for a reason. Turning trees into logs and planks was the main source of industry in the town. The lumber mill supported three papermakers, two carpenters, the wagoneers that delivered the lumber, and several lumberjacks who felled the trees and floated them down to the lumber mill. With all that lumber, how hard would it be to put up a wooden palisade and wall the town off completely? With Forsworn and bandits not to mention wolves and bears roaming the woods, wouldn’t that make sense?

Of course, if Riverwood had a complete wall, then she wouldn’t be able to slip away to her ‘training ground’ at the foot of the cliffs to the east of town. The rock-strewn niche beneath an overhang wasn’t deep enough to be called a cave, but it was at least somewhat hidden. She didn’t feel entirely safe out here on her own, but she was close enough that she hoped someone would hear her if she screamed. Although that wasn’t certain on days like today when the lumber mill was in full operation. However, she didn’t dare practice out in the open, and there was nothing here that could catch fire. All in all, it was as a good a place to train as any, and she sorely needed practice.

In two days’ time, she would be leaving with Delphine for Whiterun. Daenerys wasn’t enthused about travelling with the mysterious woman as her protector, but with rumors circulating about her being at Helgen, it was clearly time to leave. Delphine seemed the best option. Oh, she could have hitched a ride with some of the wagoneers and left any time. However, they were rough men. She didn’t feel at all safe alone with them. Maybe they wouldn’t rape her, rob her, then strangle her, and leave her corpse lying somewhere in the wood to rot, but maybe they would. All things considered, she felt safer with Delphine despite the woman’s secrets.

Not that she truly felt safe leaving. Even with Delphine to protect her it would be dangerous. One of the other things that puzzled her about Skyrim was the wildness of it. On the way from Helgen to Riverwood, Ralof had warned her to be alert as they passed by the Embershard Mine because it was a known bandit hideout. It was half a day’s walk from Riverwood! Why was that tolerated? Why didn’t Jarl Balgruuf send troops out to clear it out? Gerdur said the jarl had a bounty out – that was obviously doing nothing. It was as if laws simply ceased to exist as soon as you stepped outside the walls of a settlement.

Bandits weren’t even the worst of it. Apparently, entire fortresses were owned by Daedra worshipping Forsaken, and if you were caught by them it was a tossup if they would rape, kill, sacrifice, or eat you first. She might have been skeptical of tales of trolls, hagravens, vampires and spriggans, but after being attacked by giant spiders and bitten by one the size of a dog while escaping Helgen, she was willing to believe that monsters and worse really were lurking in the wilderness. Not that mundane threats like bears, wolves, and bandits couldn’t be just as deadly.

Thankfully, she wasn’t entirely helpless. One of the few bright spots in this insane world was that she had magic of her own now. When the dragon had saved her at Helgen, she heard a word that reverberated within her body, perhaps even her very soul, a word that even now strained to be released.

“ **Yol** ,” she uttered, after a deep breath. With the word came a burst of fire from her mouth.

Her exhalation of fire wasn’t narrow and focused like true dragon fire. Instead, it fanned out in a wide arc in front of her. In a way the cone of flame was better than true dragonfire, because her Shout covered an area in front of her. Faced with a single target up close, she was almost certain to hit them. Her flame also hit hard. Under Helgen she had knocked back armored men and left them dead or dying. Unfortunately, her fire breath barely went out two arm-lengths. Her range was pitiful when compared to the fire of a dragon.

As the fire left her, she felt an emptiness grow inside her. The emptiness was similar to feeling short of breath, but more like the dimming of her flame. Her _magicka_ , Gerdur had called it. Until it refilled she simply couldn’t breathe fire again.

She had learned that the proper term for casting magic with words was Shouting, and it was a very rare gift. Nords distrusted almost all magic. However, they viewed Shouting with almost religious awe. Ulfric could Shout, and that had a great deal to do with status among Nords. She wasn’t eager to embrace the fame that would come if people knew she could Shout.

To the best of her knowledge, only three people alive knew she could Shout: Ralof, Gerdur and Hod. She hoped to keep that secret for some time to come. She was far too weak to handle the fame and attention that being able to Shout would bring her. She had killed under Helgen, but she’d come far too close to dying several times. Against one foe, her Shout was deadly, but combat was chaotic. Multiple attackers could easily kill her. In truth, if not for Ralof and the miracle called healing potions, she would have died.

Fortunately, Shouting was no longer her only trick. She concentrated on the word **Yol**. It meant fire, but it was more than a word. **Yol** was primal. It resonated with the world and within her being. When she kept the word **Yol** in her head she touched the very concept of fire. She stretched out her hand and a jet of fire came forth searing the rock. She kept the fire going as long as she could, but her own fire, her magicka, ran out and the fire died.

She leaned against the cliff and breathed heavily. She was hoping that doing this repeatedly was growing her magicka. It worked with swinging a sword and muscles. She wasn’t sure if her magicka was growing or not. If it was growing, it was slow, but men didn’t build muscles overnight. Perhaps magic was the same. At least she was getting better at calling fire from her hands. Gerdur called it the Flames spell, and claimed it was one of the easiest spells. Apparently quite a few people had enough magic to call flames, do some healing, or other simple spells. They were called hedge mages and were the lowest tier of magic users.

She still wasn’t sure what that made her. She could only cast a single spell, but she could Shout. More than once she had thought about seeking out the College of Magic she heard was far to the north in the town of Winterhold. Was the similarity of name to Winterfell and the fact that both were located in the extreme north an omen? Or was it merely coincidence? Omen or not, she still couldn’t read or write the local language. 

Gerdur had taught her the Tamrielic alphabet, and she could at least sign her name. Unfortunately, knowing the alphabet didn’t help her much in learning to read. The sounds of words didn’t match their letters very well. There were all sorts of confusing rules where combinations of letters made different sounds than what a letter by itself should. She suspected that their drunken god, Sanguine, must have been responsible. The written language simply didn’t make sense.

Gathering her magic she projected fire again. Her Flames spell might not be as deadly as her Shout, but even with Delphine’s protection, she intended to be as prepared as she could be to face the roads of Skyrim. She’d seen mages shooting fire at the dragon at Helgen. While they had been foolish in the extreme to try to hurt a dragon with fire, she knew throwing fire was possible. She just couldn’t work out how it was done. That wouldn’t stop her from practicing and trying. She continued to cast her magic as the sun past its peak and began sinking down in the sky. It was well into late afternoon when she heard the jingle of metal and turned to find three armored men staring at her.

They were all three dressed the same: a scaled vest with chain sleeves, a quilted yellow cloth hung over it, and helms that hid their faces. Not being able to see their faces, made them quite intimidating to behold, especially with their swords out and shields ready.

“Mage, are you the one they call Daenerys of Helgen?”

Daenerys’ thoughts raced. Obviously, they had seen her throwing fire. Their hostility might just be the usual Nord distrust of magic, but they had also been seeking her out and she didn’t know why. It occurred to her that all three of them were standing right in front of her and if she Shouted **Yol** , she would probably kill all three of them before they could react. However, she felt too drained to Shout…

“Nobody around here calls me that. Sometimes they’ll call me wench. Other times they just call for more mead.” The words felt odd in her mouth, tinged by fear. This was a ploy Tyrion might have tried, stalling for time by _talking_. Yet, it was three large and armored men against her, and she was too drained to Shout yet. Talking was all she had. She doubted anyone had sent three armed men after her for a good reason.

“Do you think you’re funny?” asked their leader. “I knew a man who thought he was funny. He didn’t know when to stop talking. Sniel, you remember him, the pickpocket who tried to run and we caught by the Gildergreen.”

The one on the right, presumably Sniel laughed. “I thought he was funny, after you broke his jaw. He made little whimpering sounds whenever he tried to eat.”

Her magicka was slowly returning to her, but it was taking too long and guards weren’t known for their patience. Worse, she was trapped with a literal cliff at her back. There was nowhere to hide and nowhere to run. “My name is Daenerys.” Mother of dragons and helpless before three men in armor with swords. “I’ve never gone by Daenerys of Helgen, but I was in Helgen when the dragon came.”

Their leader nodded. “Then you’re the girl we’re seeking. By order of Jarl Balgruuf you are ordered to appear before him and give witness to what you saw at Helgen.”

This wasn’t good. Gerdur and Hod spoke well of Jarl Balgruuf and claimed he was a good jarl. However, she’d noticed that didn’t stop the jarl from claiming all the profits from the lumber mill. Gerdur operated it for him and was headwoman for Riverwood. Yet she lived in a one room building like the other smallfolk in town. Plus, the jarl put out bounties on bandits instead of dispatching his troops. It smelled like poor governance to her, but she simply didn’t know all the reasons. What she did know was that this wasn’t a request.

She felt her magicka. She thought she finally had enough to Shout. This was her chance, but if she did, then she would be branded an outlaw and murderer. She doubted she’d survive a month in the wild even if they didn’t track her down. “Then I will go with to see Jarl Balgruuf. Do we leave immediately? Or do I have time to pack?”

“You can pack. It’s too late to reach Whiterun tonight. We’ll stay at the inn and leave at dawn.”

“Thank you.” At least it was Balgruuf’s en instead of Imperials. She just had to hope that he really was a good Jarl like Gerdur and Hod claimed and she wouldn’t be judged merely for being in Helgen when a dragon attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Shouts are on a timer and don't cost magicka in Skyrim. That was just too much of a game mechanic to have two different magic systems one running on a timer and one on a magic pool. I simply folded Shouts into the magicka system. That will also make it easier describing combat from Daenerys' point of view throughout the story.
> 
> In canon Gerdur makes a statement that she does not run Riverwood. A town of that size would have a leader. Rather than invent a NPC, I made it Gerdur. I also made it the jarl's lumber mill and Gerdur just runs it. She and Hod should be a lot better off financially if they owned the lumber mill. As I flesh out a more lore-based story, some minor changes like this may happen because I'm presenting things with a greater level of realism than in the game.


	4. Chapter 3

# Chapter 3

Fredas, the 26th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys slept restlessly. In her dreams she was being hunted by the dead through dimly lit stone corridors. She didn’t fight alone. Her comrades were a mix of past and present: Jon, Tyrion, Brienne of Tarth, and Nords dressed in the armor of Whiterun. She fought with hand axe and Flames, but the dead kept coming. One reached out and grabbed her…

“Wake up lass.” Gerdur shook her gently. “It’s almost dawn. The jarl’s men will want to leave soon.”

“I’m awake!” She took a deep breath and shuddered. More calmly she repeated, “I’m awake.”

Her nightmare had been unusually vivid and disturbing, but she had enough to worry about today without dwelling on dreams. Gerdur was right, she needed to get ready. She doubted the jarl’s men would be patient. A glance around the room showed that Hod was already gone, so she reached for the fur armor she’d laid out last night.

In terms of defense, the fur armor she’d purchased from Alvor the smith wasn’t even as good as the leathers that Delphine wore. That was fine. She’d bought it to protect her from the cold, not to protect her in battle. The Nords of Riverwood didn’t seem at all bothered by the weather turning colder, but there was already frost on the ground more mornings than not. She wasn’t venturing away from the comfort and safety of Riverwood without having warm clothing. Winter in Skyrim promised to be at least as cold as winter in the North had been. They could laugh, but winter could kill as surely as bandits and beasts.

“Come here and eat up,” Gerdur called as she placed a bowl of porridge on the table. “You have a long day’s walk ahead of you.”

“Thank you, not just for breakfast today, but also for taking me in and helping me get back on my feet.” She sat down on the table. Porridge was simple fare, but Gerdur had flavored it with nuts a drop of honey.

“Nonsense. You helped my brother escape Helgen. He may have the brains of an ox and the manners of a pig, but he’s still my only brother.” She brought out a package wrapped in cloth. “I packed you a meal for the road.”

“Thank you, again.” She knew there was no way to refuse the gift of food, and she needed to eat. Yet, the simple kindness of the smallfolk of Riverwood still pained her. It reminded her of King’s Landing and how she had justified the deaths of so many as necessary.

“Don’t thank me yet, I’m not done. Hod’s already at work, but he carved you a walking staff. It will help you on your journey and is probably a better weapon for you than an axe. If you do get attacked on the road, it will help you keep your distance until the jarl’s men can do the killing.” Gerdur paused and rubbed some sleep from her eyes. Then she took a breath and continued. “One more thing, those furs of yours are too new, particularly the boots. They aren’t broken in yet. Even if your feet are killing you, don’t take them off until you have time to soak your feet. Your feet will swell up and you’ll never get them back in your boots.”

“Yes, Gerdur.” Was this what being mothered felt like? She knew how to break in a pair of boots. “I won’t take them off. Thank you again.” There had been a time when she could have showered gold and gifts on Gerdur and Hod. Now all she had was her thanks, and it just didn’t feel like enough.

.oOo.

Jarl Balgruuf’s guards were still as ill-tempered as they’d been the previous day. They barely spoke to her, but she did catch their names. The leader was called Halvard the Red. He led the way with Sniel at his side. The third guard, Jesper, followed behind - probably to make sure she didn’t make a break for it. Despite her worries about bandits and worse along the roads, their journey was peaceful and even relaxing. Once, she was motioned into silence because they had heard something in the woods, but it turned out to be only an elk. Her feet were already sore and hurting before they broke for lunch at midday. She counted herself fortunate they’d stopped close enough to the river that she could soak her feet while they ate.

While she was comfortable in her furs, her guards were apparently hot in their armor. All three of them waded into the river, doffed their helmets, and poured water over themselves. It was the first time she’d seen their faces, and it made them a lot more human. Halvard had probably earned his cognomen of ‘the Red’ because of his hair although his red mane was shot through with silver. He reminded her a little of Jorah; an old warrior, experienced and tough as leather. Sniel’s face was even more intimidating without the helmet. An angry scar disfigured his face running from his forehead to his right cheek and he was obviously blind in his right eye. He watched her distrustfully constantly with his one good eye.

Jesper turned out to be little more than a lad. His blond hair was long, but he was still trying to grow a full Nord beard. He surprised her by trying to strike up a conversation with her. “You must really hate the Imperials to come all the way to Skyrim to join the Stormcloaks.”

She had never considered that Nords might think that of her. No one in Riverwood had accused her of being a Stormcloak. “I didn’t come to Skyrim because I hate the Imperials.” That had come later.

“Then why-”

Halvard interrupted him. “Stop trying to get friendly with the mage. I know you’ve been watching her ass all morning, but this isn’t a tavern. The jarl wants to speak to her. Our job is to get her there, no more, no less.”

“Yes, sir!” agreed Jesper promptly. He blushed and looked away.

That was the end of the conversation. She gave Jesper a shrug. If he had been trying to flirt with her, it had been poorly done. She certainly didn’t find it surprising or embarrassing that he might have been staring at her ass. After coupling in front of the entire Khalasar and having her handmaidens compliment and critique her technique, it took a lot more than a ribald comment or a gaze to embarrass her. Her feet weren’t happy to return to walking after their break, but she’d survived a walk through the Red Waste. She wouldn’t complain about a mere journey of a day, even if the trail did wander up and down more than forward.

In the late afternoon, they met a party coming from the other direction. Three imperials led a man shackled and bound by a simple rope. He was dressed in a prisoner’s garb of simple sackcloth. She kept her mouth shut and her eyes averted as the leader of the Imperials exchanged words with Halvard. She didn’t want any of them to see the hate in her eyes. It had been Imperials like these that had found her when she first arrived in Skyrim, betrayed and confused at still being alive, lost and naked. They had dressed her in sackcloth, bound her, and forced her to walk barefoot for leagues until they put her on a cart and sent her off to die. She couldn’t meet the eyes of the Stormcloak prisoner for a different reason. She couldn’t help him. Even if she used **Yol** , she couldn’t fight six soldiers. All she could do was to remain silent and watch as they led their prisoner away to be executed.

She spent much of the rest of her journey in thought. This civil war was really no business of hers. From what she could tell there was blame on both sides. The Imperials had no choice in signing the White Gold Concordat. The Nords were justly angry at not being allowed to worship Talos as they pleased. What didn’t make sense was why the Empire wasn’t treating the rebellion more seriously. Did they really believe it was possible to reach a peaceful resolution? Instead of a full-out war, both sides seemed to be more engaged in political maneuvers.

While she had good reasons to hate the Imperials, the rebellion was a problem for the Nords. She had no intention of joining the Stormcloaks. However, a part of her couldn’t help but wonder what she might accomplish if she did join a side. She might just be able to swing the war one way or the other. It was a small and simple thing on Planetos, but it could change war on Tamriel forever. Soldiers in Tamriel fought on foot. Most wore light armor because they had to march on foot. A few wore heavy armor and trained to it, but not many. None on horseback. There were no knights or horse archers because saddles on Tamriel had no stirrups. She was far from an expert on war, but whether it was Westerosi knights or the Dothraki horde, horsemen routinely destroyed men on foot. Both sides seemed to be evenly matched. If she explained the impact of the stirrup on war, and one side was to train up cavalry in secret – they could be devasting on the battlefield.

Yet, weren’t those dreams of her past life? Dreams of conquest? Here she was nobody. She would have to convince them to first entrust her with hundreds of men and horses. Second, to let her train them for months in secret. Only then might they be employed to make a difference on the battlefield, and even then only on the right kind of battlefield. Cavalry wasn’t much use in forests, hills, or in sieges. The value of stirrups would be obvious as soon as it was demonstrated. So much so that whomever she would show would put them straight into service without the proper training required to make them truly effective. She wasn’t even sure how much training would be needed. Despite her time with the Dothraki horde, she had no special knowledge of how to train men to fight on horseback. No, it was a foolish dream. The kind of foolishness that led her to burn King’s Landing. No, she should focus on Shouting and magic, skills she had, and not dream of leading charging horsemen.

By the time the sun was setting Daenerys was leaning heavily on the walking staff that Hob had made. Her feet had long passed sore and were now numb, but she kept walking and didn’t complain. Whiterun was supposedly a summer day’s walk from Riverwood. Meaning that the journey could be achieved in a single day in summer but took two or more in winter. Even leaving before dawn, she was afraid they would still be walking far into the night. However, the sky was turning pink when the path opened up and a large vista spread out below.

At first, she took the land ahead to be a valley, but the broad plain was far too vast to be called a valley, even if mountains were visible far in the distance. The fortress city of Whiterun was very visible atop of what was either a very large hill or a small mountain. All around the city laid leagues of crops. What was being grown was hard to tell from the distance, but the growth was far too regular to be anything but tended fields. A few windmills were visible as well, turning in the breeze.

“Stop lollygagging, mage,” sneered Halvard the Red. “We still have two leagues to go. You’ll have time to gawk and rest when we get there.”

“I’m walking.” She forced herself to keep going. Maybe the jarl’s men wouldn’t whip her to keep her moving as the Imperials had done, but then maybe they would. She wondered if they would have been this rude if they hadn’t caught her casting Flames. They simply didn’t like her. Well, perhaps Jesper liked her, but she thought Halvard was probably correct that he was more interested in her body than anything else. Maybe it wasn’t because of her magic. Maybe they hadn’t liked her detouring a few paces to soak her boots when the road passed close to the White River. Maybe they distrusted anyone who wasn’t a Nord on principle. Regardless of the reason, it reminded her very much of her reception at Winterfell.

As they approached the city, she was afforded a better view of the fields. The two primary crops were wheat and potatoes. There were other crops that she couldn’t identify in the twilight. The fields varied greatly in size. Some seemed to be single-family holdings, others were much larger. They encountered no other traffic on the road proving most people had the sense to retire once the sun had set. Lights glowed through the windows of many of the cottages they passed along the way.

The road steepened as they approached the city. While the slope made her hike even worse, she had to appreciate the placement of the city as a military fortress. Any enemy would be hard-pressed to lay siege to Whiterun when the defenders could simply roll boulders down upon them. She was also puzzled by the streams they passed. A great deal of water was clearly flowing from Whiterun. That ran counter to her experience. Water formed pools, streams, and rivers in valleys. It didn’t flow from hilltops. Whiterun must be built upon a huge spring, another powerful advantage in warfare. If they kept enough food in reserve, this city could probably withstand a siege for months at least.

Near the walls they passed some outlying buildings. They went through two outlying walls and one drawbridge before arriving at the main gates. Her escort exchanged a few words with the two guards stationed outside the gate and they were admitted to the city itself.

Whiterun was no King’s Landing and far smaller than Meereen, but it was a proper city and not just a fortress like Winterfell. Without viewing it from above, she found it difficult to gauge the size of the city, but it surely had to be less than one hundred thousand. They entered what must have been the trade district, passing a smithy and shops set one next to the other. They stuck to the main road until they reached what was probably a bustling marketplace during the day. From there they turned north up some stairs. Freshwater ran in channels down either side of the stairs. The presence of running water right in the heart of the city probably had a great deal to do with the cleanliness of Whiterun. It lacked the stench of most large cities.

At the top of the stairs, they reached landmarks that she had heard of from Gildur and Hod: the Gildergreen tree and the upside-down boat that marked the Hall of the Companions.

The Companions seemed to occupy a strange niche in Nord society. Despite working for pay, they were honored as heroes. They certainly were not like the mercenaries she had known from Essos. They mostly killed monsters and bandits when paid enough, but were hired as individuals, not as military troops. You could also hire them to beat someone up with their fists – and this was an accepted way of settling disputes! Maybe it was because she was an outsider, but many Nord customs seemed to lack common sense.

As they continued their upward climb through the city, they passed what she would guess were manors, homes set apart with their own yards and clearly larger and better constructed than the others. Probably these were the homes of the nobles of the jarl’s court and the wealthier merchants.

Finally, they reached the castle of Dragonsreach. It was a fortress within a fortress, like the Red Keep in King’s Landing. Even if invaders breached the walls and took the city, they’d still have to fight to reclaim this fortress. They passed several guards and were challenged twice before they were finally admitted to Dragonsreach. Then they waited.

She wasn’t surprised to have to wait. She knew that monarchs didn’t just sit around all the time on their thrones holding audience. While she had tried to administer justice for all in Meereen, she knew that some had waited days to have their petitions heard. After a long time waiting, a guard brought the message that Jarl Balgruuf would see her in the morning. The guards had a short debate among themselves about what to do with her. They eventually decided that since she wasn’t a prisoner, she must be a guest. They led her to the servant’s wing where she was assigned a room and provided with water and food before being locked in for the night.

The first thing she did was remove her boots and wash her feet. She wasn’t surprised to find them bloodied and blistered. It was an unpleasant reminder of her arrival in Skyrim. They were treating her more fairly than the Imperials had done, but even the Dothraki hadn’t been this cruel to her. Of course, she had also been the bride of Khal Drogo. Now she was no one. She opened her pack and debated taking one of her two remaining healing potions. While she dreaded trying to walk tomorrow, they were simply too precious to waste on mere blisters. Instead, she ate the food and drank the wine they’d provided and fell asleep in the fur-covered cot. No one came to fetch her the next morning, so she ate what was left of the food Gurdur packed her, brushed and braided her hair, and waited.

It must have been mid-morning when a guard finally opened the door. “Follow me. The jarl will see you now.”

“Very well.” She wished she had better clothes to wear. Perhaps she should have bought something at the Riverwood Trader just to appear before the jarl. At least the wait had given her time to braid her hair properly. It wasn’t as nice as her handmaidens would do for her, but she went to more effort than most Nord women bothered.

  
  


Jarl Balgruff slouched on a wooden throne atop a dais overlooking a large dining hall. Several logs blazed in a large stone firepit, far more than was needed to heat the room, but it did have a certain barbaric appeal. The jarl was a blonde man still in his prime with a warrior’s build but draped in finery. She was a little offended by his indolent air. Whenever she had sat upon a throne, she had been very much aware of the solemn responsibilities of ruling. He seemed far too relaxed.

Two guards and two courtiers flanked him. One of the courtiers wore finery, yet had a two-handed sword strapped across his back. Although she still had trouble telling the peoples of this world apart, he had a shaven face and ruddy complexion that made her believe him an Imperial. The red-haired, dark-skinned woman with pointed ears and wearing leather armor was easier to place. She had never met one before, but she was clearly a Dunmer.

The Imperial announced her with the smooth polished tones of a courtier. “My lord, Daenerys of Helgen appearing as you requested.”

A part of her bridled that her appearance was described as a ‘request’ when she had been accosted at sword point, forced to march to Whiterun, and then locked into a room. However, she pushed that down. She didn’t rule here, this man could order her killed, and she had no idea what he wanted from her. So, she dipped her head and curtsied trying to act meek.

“Ah yes, the girl from Helgen, you were there when the dragon attacked?” Jarl Balgruuf spoke with an unhurried manner.

“I was.” She would keep it short and volunteer nothing.

“It’s said that you survived dragonfire. I would very much like to know how you did that.”

“I’m simply a hedge mage with an affinity for fire magics, my lord.” Calling herself a hedge mage was a bit of an exaggeration considering she knew one spell, and she wasn’t about to Shout. However, there was a blazing fire just behind her. “If I might demonstrate with your fire?”

“Let’s not go tossing around magicks in here, especially fire magicks,” said the Dunmer soldier. She spoke and moved like a dangerous beast stalking its prey.

“Does this demonstration involve throwing fire?” asked the Imperial more politely.

“Not at all,” assured Daenerys. “I’m simply going to plunge my hand in your fire.”

The jarl shifted to lean on an arm and glanced at the Dunmer. “Irileth, I see no harm in this.” His gaze returned to her and he waved in approval. “Carry on, lass.”

She took off the fur mantle and her right glove. A gift from the gods that had allowed her to birth dragons and made her Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea reduced to a parlor trick. She thrust her hand into the fire and let the flames play about her. “I only know fire magic, but fire cannot harm me.”

“By the gods,” said Jarl Balgruuf clearly impressed.

“I’ve seen Nords swim across frozen lakes, shake themselves off and fight,” dismissed Irileth. “And many Dunmer have a resistance to fire.”

“Be that as it may,” said the Imperial. “It’s ultimately of little consequence. A personal immunity to flames rather than a spell or potion that can be used by many doesn’t help us with our dragon problem.”

Daenerys took that as her cue to remove her hand and step back from the flames.

The jarl nodded. “You are correct, Proventus. Although… lass, you named yourself a hedge mage. Can you wield fire as well as resist it?”

She didn’t know where he was going with this, but as his men had already seen her casting Flames, there was no point in denying it. “I can.”

"There is another thing you could do for me. Suitable for someone of your _particular_ talents, perhaps. Come, let's go find Farengar, my court wizard. He's been looking into a matter related to these dragons and... rumors of dragons."

“Of course, my lord.” As if there was any possibility of saying no. When the jarl stood, she followed behind him.

"Farengar is probably puttering around in his lab. Day and night. I'm not sure he ever sleeps." His tone was more jocular and less judgemental now that he wasn’t sitting on his throne.

Farengar’s lab proved to only be a short walk away. She saw an alchemy table and another similar table that must be for enchanting. The wizard’s work area was cluttered with herbs and crystals, but a large map dominated his workspace. 

"Farengar, I think I've found someone who can help you with your dragon project. Go ahead and fill my new friend in with all the details.”

She blinked at that description. When exactly had she become a friend?

Farengar wore a dark blue robe trimmed in yellow with the hood up. It shadowed his face enough that she couldn’t tell his race. “So, the jarl thinks you can be of use to me? He must be referring to my research into the dragon problem. The jarl is putting together an expedition to fetch something for me. Well, when I say fetch, I really mean delve into a dangerous ruin in search of an ancient stone tablet that may or may not actually be there.” He paused to peer at her. “You don’t look like the usual sword-toting brute and you carry a staff. Are you a mage?”

“I have a gift with fire, yes.”

“Destruction, useful. You’re trained properly at the College of Winterhold, I hope?”

She shook her head. “I would like to, but Tamrielic isn’t my native tongue. I’m afraid I can’t read the language.”

“Oh, you’re just a hedge mage then,” he scoffed.

She wanted to defend herself, but to what end? She didn’t want to talk herself into taking part in this ‘expedition’. “Yes, just a hedge mage.”

Jarl Balgruuf rejoined the conversation. “But with a gift for _fire_. Which would be damn useful against draugr. You wouldn’t be going alone. I’m sending four of my men to Bleak Falls Barrow in the morning. You would have their protection, and your fire magic would aid them. I’d send Farengar, but he is needed here.”

She hesitated. This sounded like another ‘request’ which was actually a demand. She remembered the nightmare she’d had of fighting the dead in the tunnels of a crypt. Her dreams often foretold the future, but were just as often nonsense, and rarely of any help.

“Succeed in this, and you will be rewarded. Whiterun will be in your debt.”

Farengar cleared his throat. “More specifically, half the loot goes to the jarl. The other half will be split equally amongst the five of you.”

And still, this sounded like she couldn’t say no. She’d seen enough of the dead to last a lifetime. She was not at all eager to face them again. “Can you also write to Winterhold and get the College to accept me without being able to read Tamrelic?”

Farengar nodded. “I could. They charge no tuition to study magic assuming you have enough talent for acceptance, but you will likely have to pay someone to tutor you in reading.”

Was she really thinking of doing this? Four soldiers to accompany her and the alternative was going back to being a tavern wench. “I accept. I’ll accompany the expedition to Bleak Falls Barrow.”

“Good,” said Jarl Balgruuf. “You’ll leave in the morning.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I made some small tweaks to setting to reflect lore instead of game mechanics. Bethesda simplifies all settlements to only having space for critical NPCs and maybe a few extra for color. In a medieval city middle and lower class homes would not be individual dwellings as presented in Skyrim. They would have been built right next to each other sharing walls. I also dramatically increased the size of the city. Note that Daenerys admits to being an unreliable narrator when she guesses less than 100,000 based on a walk down a few streets at night.
> 
> Stirrups do exist on saddles in Skyrim. I felt the complete lack of any kind of cavalry in any of the Elder Scrolls games required explanation. I know there are people called knights, but they fight on foot. Historically on Earth the stirrup was developed surprisingly late for such a simple technological advance. I simply applied that same late development to Tamriel to explain the reason fighting consists of foot soldiers, bowmen and siege weapons.
> 
> I did steal a lot of dialog from the game this chapter. Don’t expect that to be a regular occurrence. I did feel it ironic that Jarl Balgruuf’s comment about the Dragonborn’s particular talents actually makes sense in my story. In game all the jarl knows is that the main character delivered a message. How does that make the main character a qualified dungeon diver?


	5. Chapter 4

# Chapter 4

Loredas, the 27th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys watched in dismay as Jarl Balgruuf left. Her feet were a mass of bloody blisters from her forced march, and now she would have to leave for Bleak Falls Barrow tomorrow. The same Bleak Falls Barrow which cast its shadow over Riverwood – right back where she had started from. Not like she had a choice. Jarl Balgruuf had volunteered her for this mission and she was in no position to tell him no. She had survived far worse and at least there was a prize to be won – not the promised loot. With half to Jarl Balgruuf and the rest split five ways, she would only receive one share in ten of the loot. No, the letter of introduction to the College of Winterhold was the real prize. She had no claim on a throne in this world, but she refused to remain a mere tavern wench. That letter would get her in the door. She would master this power inside her and make something of herself.

Her resolution firmed she faced Farengar. “If I am going to do this, I would like to know more details. I am sure there are many stones in Bleak Falls Barrow. How do I recognize this stone? And what does a stone have to do with dragons?”

Farengar nodded in approval. “Good, even if you’re just a hedge mage, at least you’ve got one of the most important traits of a true mage – curiosity. You see, when the stories of dragons began to circulate, many dismissed them as mere fantasies, rumors. Impossibilities. One sure mark of a fool is to dismiss anything that falls outside his experience as being impossible. But I began to search for information about dragons - where had they gone all those years ago? And where were they coming from?"

This wizard certainly liked to listen to himself talk. “And that has to do with a stone, how?”

“Oh, I, ah, learned of a certain stone tablet said to be housed in Bleak Falls Barrow, a 'Dragonstone,' said to contain a map of dragon burial sites. You just need to go to Bleak Falls Barrow, find this tablet - no doubt interred in the main chamber - and bring it to me. Simplicity itself."

Simplicity he said. As if Nord barrows weren’t known to be haunted by the dead. He’d also avoided her question. “And knowing where dragons are buried will help you somehow?”

“Yes, while there haven’t been any attacks on any major settlements yet, we believe more than one dragon has returned. I have a… source. She believes dragons aren’t just returning to Tamriel, they’re returning to life and the Dragonstone can help us prove that theory.”

Maybe the Nords weren’t wrong about mages. He seemed swept up in his quest for knowledge. Could this Dragonstone hurt or ward off dragons? It sounded like a lot of work for a theory. Most likely, he was holding back on how it would actually help.

“I see.” Although she actually didn’t. “On a more practical note, how big is this stone tablet? Is it something one man can lift easily? Or is it the size of a table? Should we bring a horse and cart to transport it back?”

“That…” Farengar raised a finger in the air and then paused. “…that is a good question. You should probably take a horse and cart with you just in case. One of the Jarl’s housecarls is leading the expedition. Follow me and I will introduce you. You can ask her to arrange a cart.”

Farengar made a gesture and his hand started glowing white, a trail of what looked like blue smoke extended out from his glowing hand. Unlike real smoke, it didn’t dissipate. Instead, it extended out until it resembled a blue braided rope hovering in midair. He headed off in the direction the smoky rope lead, and then glanced back. “Well, come along. What are you waiting for? I have many more important things to do today.”

Danerys hurried after him ignoring the pain from her blistered feet. “What are you doing?”

“Clairvoyance spell. Basic Illusion magic, very much worth learning even if you don’t bother with any other magic from the School of Illusion.” They’d reached the end of the blue smoke. Farengar merely gestured again and a new rope of blue smoke extended from his hand. “I can sell you a book that goes over the principles in detail.”

Did Farengar already forget that she couldn’t read Tamrielic? She bit off a snippy answer and followed after him. Servants hastily moved out of the way of the blue smoke trail. Guards muttered in disapproval.

“So, what does the spell do exactly?” asked Daenerys.

“Ah, now that is an interesting question. Most illusion spells work by affecting the minds of others, but with Clairvoyance you target your own mind and focus on a clear destination. The spell reacts to guide you to your desires – at least within certain hard to define limits. You see…”

Daenerys tried to keep up with Farengar’s long-winded discussion without much success. While she felt she had a good grasp on basic Tamrielic, she only understood about half the words Farengar used in his ‘explanation’. She got the gist. Clairvoyance guided the caster to a destination. Her understanding proved to be correct when Farengar opened a door and the path of blue smoke ended at a scowling woman standing over a paper-strewn table.

She wore the mixed leather and steel armor many Nords favored with a steel breastplate and other steel plates attached to her gauntlets and leggings – a compromise between mobility and protection with fur lining for warmth. Her dark brown hair was rough cut and unadorned save for a single braid to the left of her face. She had none of the war paint so popular among Nord warriors, but she was clearly a warrior. Not that female warriors were a rarity. The Nords of Skyrim had a long and honored tradition of warrior maids, even more than the Northerners of Westeros.

“Farengar,” grumbled the woman in a tone like the warning growl of a disturbed bear. “We both serve the same jarl, but I will tell you this but once. Keep your magicks off me unless I’ve given you permission.”

“It was nothing but a simple Clairvoyance spell…” Farengar sighed deeply in a put-upon manner. “…but as you wish. Jarl Balgruuf just recruited this hedge mage to go along with your expedition to Bleak Falls Barrow. Also, upon reflection, I am not certain as to the size of the tablet you are seeking. It might be heavier than can be easily carried. I suggest you procure a cart in case it proves to be bulky.”

“That would have been nice to know before now.” Her tone made it clear that she wasn’t pleased with the news. “I’ll make arrangements. Thank you, for your suggestion, Farengar.”

“Good. I will be going then. I have important duties to attend to.” He turned and left without another word.

Daenerys was amazed at Farengar’s rudeness both in his departure and failing to introduce her. She put upon a polite smile and introduced herself. “I’m Daenerys, some of started calling me Daenerys of Helgen, but I prefer to be called just by my name.”

“And I’m Lydia. Some call me Lydia the Housecarl, but like you I prefer to be called by my name as well. So, you’re a hedge mage and you wish to come with us to Bleak Falls Barrow. Have you ever been inside a barrow before?” There was a challenge in her tone and her gaze.

Daenerys locked gazes with the housecarl as they took each other’s measure. “No, but I’ve fought and killed the dead before. Have you?”

Lydia nodded grimly. “I have. Hopefully, this expedition will fare better than that one. I intend for this expedition to be better prepared. The cart is a good idea. Not just for the stone, but any loot we find. Now, tell me what else you bring to the table.”

.oOo.

While the entire city of Whiterun beckoned to be explored, Daenerys decided not to even explore Dragonreach. Her feet were still sore and blistered. She talked to the maids and they provided her with some ointment and footwraps. Not as good as a healing potion, but they helped. Even better, they gave her enough for several days. She resolved herself to spend the day resting and confined herself to her assigned room. To combat her boredom, she slogged her way through the books for children that Gerdur had gifted her. Trying to master reading in Tamrielic was a frustrating way to pass the time.

A knock on her door came as welcome distraction. “Yes? You may enter.”

Jesper stood in her doorway. He still wore his Whiterun guard’s armor, but he held his helmet in the crook of his left arm so that his face was visible. “So, I heard you’re coming to Bleak Falls Barrow with us tomorrow.”

Us? “I’m going with Jarl Balgruuf’s expedition tomorrow. By us do you mean you’ve joined the expedition as well?”

“Well yes, Halvard, uncle Sniel, and I were all born in Riverwood. We usually get assigned when the Jarl wants to send someone that way since we know the lay of the land.”

“I see.” She wasn’t sure if this was good news or not. Those three soldiers were at least known quantities. Jesper’s visit felt like infatuation than anything, but that was better than the open distrust of Halvard and Sniel. She forced a laugh she didn’t feel. “Well, it’s a shame we didn’t know our destination yesterday. We could have stopped at Bleak Falls Barrow first and then gone to Whiterun.”

Jesper laughed far too much at her weak attempt at humor. “You’ve obviously never been a soldier. March here, march back. March there, march back. Marching back and forth is most of the job.” He paused for a bit. “So… Halvard was right about a march not being a tavern, but we’re not on a march now. Would you like me to buy you a drink at the Bannered Mare later? I’m free once the sun goes down.”

“I think not.” She was half-tempted to take him up on the offer out of sheer boredom. However, there was something about his offer that was uncomfortable. Jesper might be a soldier and was probably about her years, but he just felt much too young for her and below her… but a soldier in service to the Jarl was admittedly of higher station than a tavern wench or a hedge mage. She shook her head and gestured down at her feet. “My boots were brand new and not broken in yet. My feet are still suffering from the journey here. Tomorrow we walk back and the next day I will have to fight. Better for me to stay in and rest.”

Jesper frowned. “You should have told us that your boots were new. We would have taken it easier on you.”

“I have a hard time believing that.” Halvard had made his displeasure at her pace clear more than once.

“Well, maybe you’re right, but we should have taken it into account. At the very least you should ride in the cart tomorrow. As you said, you will have to fight the following day.”

“I might some, but I think your uncle and Halvard already distrust me enough for being a mage. I won’t have them thinking I’m a milk drinker as well.”

Jesper laughed again and this time it didn’t sound at all forced. “You are a mystery, Daenerys of Helgen, but I doubt anyone has ever thought you were a milk drinker. I’m still on duty. I’ll leave you to your rest now.”

.oOo.

The return journey to Riverwood was less eventful than the trip from Riverwood to Whiterun had been. She had started the journey walking. However, by midmorning Lydia had noticed her limping and forced her to ride in the cart. Halvard and Sniel still didn’t like her, but they were a lot less scornful. They even teased Jesper about bringing up the rear because it had a better view. They only eventful thing on the journey was having to pass a cart burdened with lumber bound for Whiterun. The cart bearing the lumber had to back up quite a distance before they could pass.

Daenerys spent the night in Riverwood with Gerdur and Hod. They were both pleased she’d joined the jarl’s service and she had to explain it was only for this one expedition. Neither of them was happy to hear that she was bound for Bleak Falls Barrow. Gerdur scolded her like a child for the condition of her feet and forced a healing draught upon her.

Other than a baying of wolves in the distance, their journey to Bleak Falls Barrow was unremarkable until they passed the tree line. As they approached a crumbling tower an arrow suddenly struck the wagon.

“Bandits!” yelled Lydia. “Charge!” She immediately took off running with Halvard, Sniel, and Jesper charging after her.

Daenerys jumped down off the cart placing it between herself and the tower, but there was nothing close except snow and boulders. Their horse was bucking and rearing, clearly upset by the sudden screaming and yelling. She didn’t think it would be wise to run off and leave the horse untethered. Moving as fast as she could she removed the blocks from the rear of the cart and placed them at the wheels. That would probably keep the horse from wandering off. That done she hurried to the tower only to find all the bandits dead.

“What took you so long, mage?” asked Halvard with menace in his voice.

“You left me with the horse. I blocked the wheels before I followed. Horses have a tendency to run away when scared. Should I simply have abandoned the cart?”

“Peace, Halvard.” Lydia’s voice was loud and firm. “She has the right of it. Someone should have stayed with the cart. In fact, Daenerys, go back and fetch it now while we loot the tower.”

“Yes, Housecarl.” She fumed on the way back to the cart. She’d thought she had earned a little bit of respect, but either she had been mistaken or it had vanished in an instant. She had done the smart thing. She had considered the bigger picture instead of charging into the ‘glorious’ battle.

“Bleak Falls Barrow is just up ahead,” said Lydia stating the obvious. “We leave the cart here until we’re sure there are no more bandits in the ruins.”

“Yes, Housecarl,” everyone agreed.

Only the possibility of bandits kept the lid on the simmering pot of tension as they made their way up the windswept path to Bleak Falls Barrow. They all moved with quiet alertness, all too aware that the ruins of the barrow might hold a handful of bandits, an army, or nothing but the dead. The weather conspired against them as the wind picked up. The icy breeze swept up flurries of snow, limiting how far they could see. They were almost to the stairs when a movement up ahead brought them all to a halt.

“I see one bandit,” said Sniel hushed and low. “He’s armed with a bow strapped over his back. Doubt he’s heard us yet.

Daenerys couldn’t help thinking that it would help if they had archers of their own, or if she knew how to cast a bolt of fire. As things stood, she would have to be in sword range to hurt anyone.

“We’re going to use Bait and Anvil. Daenerys, you will be the bait. I want you to back up until you can just barely make out the stairs through the flurries. Keep a count as you go. When you get to 500, let out a long burst of Flames and then hide. They won’t see you through the snow, but they’ll see the fire and they’ll surely come out to investigate. Halvard and Sniel, I want you hiding to the left of the stairs. Jesper and I will hide on the right. When they come out to investigate, we hit them from both sides. No war cries until they spot us, then scream your heads off. Does everyone understand the plan?”

Daenerys thought it over. She was no tactician, but it sounded a lot better than charge. She had never heard it called Bait and Anvil, but getting an enemy to overextend was a solid tactic. “Just one question. Do I stay out after blasting Flames?”

“Count to 1000. If you don’t hear battle cries, give another long blast of Flames after that. Count to 1000 again and then come in. Got it?”

“Yes.”

“Then everyone get into position.”

Daenerys took off alone heading along the slope of the mountain away from Bleak Falls Barrow counting in her head as she went. She ran out of space on the mountain before she got far enough away that she couldn’t make out the stairs. Fortunately, she also found boulder big enough to hide behind, which was good enough for her. She kept counting and when she reached 500 she let loose with a long blast of Flames and then started counting again. She had just counted 113 when she heard battle cries and started running to the battle.

The wind and snow cut down on visibility even in daylight, but from what she could tell at least one of the soldiers of Whiterun was down with an arrow. The other three were still fighting, but they were outnumbered by the bandits. She sprinted as fast as she could, her breath coming fast. She slipped once on a patch of ice, but managed to avoid falling. She spotted an archer aiming into the melee trying to get a clean shot. He apparently hadn’t seen her, nor was he looking in her direction. She kept sprinting praying that he didn’t hear her. He did spot her, but it was too late, she was already on top of him. She stretched out a hand and cast Flames.

Fire roared from her hands. The archer screamed as he and his bow caught fire. He threw down his bow and reached for a sword, dropped it, then tried to run, but he fell down, a smoking corpse that burned upon the white snowy ground.

She scanned about to find the battle had turned in their favor. Only two bandits remained. Lydia and one of the guards were trading blows and the bandit was clearly outmatched. A bandit and one of her comrades fought a more balanced fight. She approached that fight and when an opportunity presented itself cast Flames at the bandit.

The bandit screamed and flinched. It was all the opening the Whiterun guard needed. He ran the bandit through. After that, it was over.

The guard she’d helped took off his helmet, revealing himself to be Halvard. “Not bad for a mage.”

Daenerys nodded, still winded from sprinting. “Not bad. Yourself.”

Jesper had been the one who had fallen before she arrived, but he hadn’t bled to death and two healing potions got him back on his feet. He was even joking about it. “At least they just shot me in the chest. It could have been an arrow to the knee.”

Everyone else laughed at that like it was the funniest thing they had ever heard. She wasn’t sure if she was just missing the context, or if all Nords were just a little crazy. Probably both, but oddly she found herself laughing along.


	6. Chapter 5

#  Chapter 5

Tirdas, the 30th of Hearthfire, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys had expected Bleak Falls Barrow to be like the catacombs under Whiterun, tight narrow alcove riddled corridors filled with the dead. She had also expected the dead to attack as soon as they entered the barrow. Instead, the barrow felt more like a large cave. It was a man-made structure, but the first chamber had partially collapsed resulting in an irregular natural shape. The barrow did smell of death – recent death. Two dead bandits and a dozen skeever corpses littered the floor. She held her magicka ready as they searched the room. It looked like the bandits had cleaned out the skeever nest, but with skeevers it was hard to be sure. Skeevers, like their lesser cousins rats and mice, could squeeze themselves through openings smaller than they were.

“We will camp here tonight and explore further in the morning,” declared Lydia. “Hjvatar and Sniel, go back to the tower where we left the horse. Bring the horse and cart back to the foot of the stairs. Leave the cart there, then coax the horse up the stairs. It will be safer in here with us than outside in that storm. Jesper, stack all the bodies up outside. You can put the bandits in the same pile as the skeevers. Daenerys, come with me. We’re going to walk every inch of these walls, and I want you to send a blast of fire into every corner. If there are any more skeevers, we will flush them out.”

“Yes ma’am.” She had no problem with Lydia’s precautions. She hated skeevers. They were sneaky, vicious, and surprisingly brave. Hardly a week went by in Riverwood when dogs hadn’t sniffed some out within the village boundaries. However, her blasts of fire in the corners revealed no hidden skeevers or their tunnels. There were only two exits: the main door and a large passageway wide enough for two to walk abreast sloping down into the bowels of the barrow.

Despite having only one shift of guard duty, Daenerys didn’t feel well-rested the next day. The hard stone floor, the fight with the bandits, the threat of skeevers, and the promise of facing the dead in the morning combined to make her sleep troubled and restless. From what she could tell her companions shared her apprehension as there was little talking.

The tunnel leading into the barrow ended after a short descent with a strange room. Their way forward was blocked by a portcullis. Three rotating pillars stood to one side carved with various figures.

“What is this place?”

“Puzzle room,” said Halvard.

“We have to line up the rotating pillars with the carvings on the wall in order to unlock the portcullis.”

“What?” Daenerys looked around confused. The answers to the puzzle was literally carved in stone on the walls. “What’s the point of a puzzle lock if you’re going to give away the answer?”

“You’re missing the point,” explained Lydia. “Puzzle rooms and puzzle doors aren’t meant to keep out the living. They’re mean to keep in the dead. Draugr have a vicious cunning about them and hate for the living, but they lack the smarts to solve even simple puzzles.”

“Ah, that makes some sense then.” If you wanted the dead to come to life, but not get out. “And, the draugr were bound here by the Dragon Priests back when the Nords served the dragons?”

All four Nords looked uneasy. Surprisingly, it was Sniel who answered. “So the old songs and stories say.”

She decided not to press for answers, sensing this was a sore subject. Still, she wondered what dragons returning meant for the draugr. Were the dragons the equivalent of the Night King? She hadn’t heard any tales of draugr leaving their crypts and stalking the countryside. There were stories of monsters, but the creatures mentioned were trolls, vampires and Falmer.

The puzzle room proved to be as easy to open as they’d said, and they continued their way deeper into the barrow. Footprints in dust showed something humanoid had walked the corridors recently. They were all on edge and ready for a fight. As they continued their way deeper into the barrow the cobwebs increased in number until the walls were coated in webbing. She didn’t need to be told what this meant. She had seen this before under Helgen and knew what it meant – frostbite spiders. The damn things were creepy as hell. She’d been bitten and the bite felt like icy water sinking into her veins.

“Daenerys, take the lead. Sear the webs with flame. Flush the spiders out.”

“Right.” She wasn’t eager to take point, but it was just commonsense that fire would be more useful against webbing than swords and axes. She had faced worse than spiders. She led the way using Flames in short bursts so as not to drain her magicka too much. The webbing caught fire easily and shriveled away, but just revealed stone walls. After what seemed like forever they reached an archway filled with cobwebs, but beyond was obviously a much larger room. This was familiar from Helgen, too. She could barely make out the shape of what must be egg sacks past the webbing.

She turned to Lydia right behind her. “Get ready, I think there is a nest beyond.”

She used one large blast of Flames to take down the webbing in the archway and then hurried into the room looking left, right and all about. Several boulder-sized egg sacks crowded the walls. Something had to lay the eggs. However, she didn’t see any dog-sized creatures with too many legs. Instead she saw a human-sized figure trapped in webbing at the other end of the nest.

“Help me! Help!” cried a male voice. “Get me out of here!”

A flash of movement drew her eyes upward and she saw a spider larger than horse descending almost silently from the ceiling of the room. It landed and advanced towards her rapidly, its horrible fangs chittered as it skittered toward her.

She reacted instinctively. She drew in a breath and Shouted, “ **Yol.** ” The word burst from her mouth and a wave of fire smashed into the creature just as it was about to bite her. The flames threw the impossibly large spider backward tumbling end over burning end. Spider silk shriveled and burned at the touch of fire and smoke filled the room. Daenerys called fire to her hand and rushed forward, but the thing had already curled up into a scorched ball and was obviously dead.

“You Shouted,” whispered Sniel from behind her in an awed voice. “That was Shouting.”

Daenerys turned and looked found that her companions had all followed her into the nest. They just stood there, weapons lowered and staring at her. Lydia, Halvard, Sniel and Jesper, all wore a similar look - like they were ready to kneel and worship her. She knew that look. She had seen it before when she hatched her dragons, when she’d freed slaves, and even in Ralof’s eyes under Helgen. She had deliberately tried to keep her ability to Shout a secret…

“Hey!” interrupted the figure trapped in the web. “Now that you’re done tossing around fire; someone cut me down from here!”

Lydia ignored the interruption and stepped forward. “You told me that you were just a hedge mage. You never mentioned Shouting.” Her accusation was tempered by the awe in her voice.

Daenerys felt like she was playing Cyvasse blindfolded. She was expected to set up her side of the board while her opponent could see her place her armies, but this was even worse. She didn’t even know the rules of the game she was being forced to play. Yet, now there was no more staying hidden and trying to learn the rules. She’d just outed herself. Or had she? “I can. It’s a gift. It came to me at Helgen, but I’m not ready for the attention it will bring. I wanted to understand it first. That’s why I’ve been trying to master my magic.”

Sniel laughed. “That’s not how – ”

“Hey! Still trapped over here!”

Sniel growled and looked at Lydia. She nodded and drew a finger across her throat. Sniel marched across the room.

“No! Wait!” The bandit struggled and grew panicked. “I know the secrets of this place. The claw! The door in the Hall of Stories. I know how they all fit together!”

Sniel drew his sword.

“Wait,” commanded Lydia. “What about a claw?”

“Yes, the claw. I have it on me! I know how it works.”

“So do I,” scoffed Lydia. “Kill him.”

Sniel stabbed the Dunmer in the throat. The bandit struggled weakly for a few moments and made a horrible gurgling noise as he died.

“Thank you,” said Lydia.

Daenerys found herself agreeing. There were many things about Nord culture she didn’t understand, but she completely agreed that bandits deserved swift justice. She was more curious about the claw. “I think that is likely the golden claw that was stolen from the Riverwood Trader a few days ago. Do you think it’s a key of some sort?”

“I’m sure it is,” replied Lydia. “But, I know already know how to use the claw. Now, what Sniel was trying to explain before the thief interrupted, is that magic and Shouting are two different things. Magic is of this world, of Mundus. Shouting is… from before. It’s how the world was made. You’re not going to learn more about Shouting by studying magic.”

“She’s right,” agreed Halvard. “The only ones who could teach you about Shouting are the Greybeards.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement, but privately she wasn’t sure that was entirely true. Yes, Shouts were deeper, more primal, but it was **Yol** that led her to understand Flames. While she didn’t understand the details, she’d learned enough to know that magic was almost a trade. Mages were scholars and magic followed rules. The Greybeards, on the other hand, were basically a religious order and a monastic one at that. “I’m afraid I’m not cut out to spend the rest of my life in quiet contemplation on a mountaintop…” and now she’d just insulted Nord customs. “… I’m still learning the language. I want to steer my own life, and not live under the shadow of this gift. Could you keep this secret for me?”

Lydia frowned. “I am sworn to Jarl Balgruuf. I will tell no other before I speak with him, but I keep no secrets from my jarl.” She glanced at the Jarl’s soldiers. “And that’s an order for you three. You are to tell no one unless the Jarl says otherwise. This is his choice to make. Am I clear?”

“Yes, Housecarl!” they all agreed.

“Thank you, Housecarl.” Daenerys was polite about it, but she doubted that her ability to Shout would remain a secret for long. It was probably already too late. Ralof told Gerdur and Hod that she knew, and he likely told Ulfric Stormcloak. She knew all to well that secrets spread… Jon Snow. Lover. Betrayer. As always when her thoughts turned to him, bitterness spread within her like a poison. She quashed those feelings refusing to give into them. “Regardless, this isn’t the time or place to be having a discussion. Shouldn’t we recover this Dragonstone first?”

“Aye,” agreed Lydia with a chuckle. “We should. We’ve got a job to do. Let’s get back to it.” Lydia led the way deeper into the barrow.

The next room held the dead. The fight happened quickly. Two draugr staggered forward to attack and Jarl Balgruuf’s men rushed them and cut them to pieces.

“That’s it?” Daenerys was having difficulty reconciling her experience in Westeros to what she’d just witnessed. The fight happened so fast. She had still been trying to get a clear line of fire to use Flames and it was already over. “I thought draugr were dangerous.” Those were… slow.

“You told me you’d fought draugr before,” accused Lydia.

“No, I said that I fought the _dead_ before. The dead that I fought were fast, dangerous, and relentless. They looked much the same. They smelled just as bad, but they moved as fast as a striking snake. They would shrug off injury and keep fighting. They were dangerous, even to skilled warriors.” She took a deep breath. “Not to insult any of your fighting prowess.”

“I understand,” said Lydia. “Not all draugr are this slow or die this easily.” She shrugged. “Maybe the magic that animates them is failing. They’re still strong enough to be dangerous, and it takes more than one good wound to put them down. Don’t underestimate them.”

“I won’t,” promised Daenerys

As they continued deeper into the barrow, the corridor expanded into the kind of catacomb tunnel she’d expected – alcoves carved on all sides filled with corpses. Most of the corpses were just dead, but some of them would stagger to life and shamble to attack. Despite her promise to be careful, Daenerys found herself relaxing. These Draugr were dangerous: unnatural, immensely strong, and difficult to kill, but in combat speed and numbers mattered a lot. The draugr kept attacking one or two at a time, which made it easy for their party of five to surround them and take them down. While she didn’t have her dragons, she had fire magic. She wasn’t just surviving either, she was pulling her weight.

“Why are you casting Flames instead of Shouting?” asked Jesper during a lull in the fighting.

“The Shout is too powerful. I’d catch some of you in the fire. However, if we get several at once, I may need to Shout. If I yell at everyone to step back, give me a clear path. Then I’ll use my Shout.”

“Sensible,” agreed Lydia. “And you lunks better move if she calls for it, or if I call for you to clear her a path.”

However, their next obstacle wasn’t more of the dead. Instead, the corridor narrowed. Giant blades scythed back and forth blocking their way forward.

Lydia sighed, “Axe trap. There should be a lever to shut it off on the other side. One of us has to time their leaps to get past it.” She stared at Daenerys. “You’re wearing less armor than the rest of us. You should be the fastest. Are you up to it?”

Daenerys eyed the corridor. The blades were huge and moved quickly, but they were moving with a consistent rhythm. It would be possible to time her jumps and get past them. However, a mistake would likely prove instantly fatal. She glanced from Lydia to the others. They had been treating her differently now that they knew she could Shout, like a member of the party and not a burden. Lydia probably wouldn’t have even asked her to take this chance before. In a way it was a mark of respect. If she dared the axes, it would prove her bravery as well. If she refused, she would likely lose the respect she’d gained. She watched the swish, swish, swish of the axes. She thought she could do it, but a mistake would mean death. It wasn’t worth it, not really. Why did she care about the respect of four Nords already sworn to Jarl Balgruuf?

Unfortunately, no matter how little sense it made, she did care. She was tired of being Daenerys the Tavern Wench. It didn’t matter that these men would never swear to her. She had earned some respect because she could Shout. She would show that respect was merited and prove her bravery.

“I’ll do it.” She slipped off her pack and laid down her staff. She took a moment to stretch and then slowly stepped forward to the trapped corridor to where the blades scythed back and forth with mechanical precision. Carefully she timed the first blade and jumped.

She made it through. Now in the middle of the trap, the blades sounded louder as if they were angry that they were denied their prey. She pushed that aside and focused only on the blade in front of her. She jumped.

She survived. Two down. One to go. Her heart beat wildly in her breast. One more dance with death. She had the timing down. Swish. Swish. Swish. Now.

She leapt forward and rolled coming out the other side to a small dirty ill-lit room with a large level. Shaking with relief she stood and pulled the lever. The giant axes stopped frozen. The corridor was safe.

“Come on through!” That was one of the most foolish things she had ever done, but she didn’t regret it. When Halvard, Jesper and even Sniel praised her bravery, she found her heart soaring like it hadn’t in a long time. “Oh come on, why are we lollygagging? Don’t we have a tablet to find?”

.oOo.

The draugr got stronger and faster the deeper they went, but they had come together as a team, working as one. Twice she called for them to step back, and the others quickly disengaged so she could Shout before rejoining the fray.

Finally, they reached a corridor lined with carvings of dragons that ended at a puzzle door. Three concentric circles of stone marked with symbols surrounded a central hub with three small holes in it.

“This is the final door, and this is where we need the claw.” Lydia extracted the golden claw they’d recovered from the bandit. “We turn the tumblers to line up with the symbols on the claw: Bear. Moth. Owl. Then we insert the claw.” Lydia lined the claw up with the holes, inserted it into place and turned.

With a shudder and a scattering of dust, the entire door rumbled and receded. Beyond lay the main chamber. It was huge, easily big enough to house a dragon. Stairs led up to what looked like a tomb. Beyond that stood a large wall inscribed with writing – hopefully the entire wall wasn’t the Dragonstone.

Daenerys was about to ask Lydia what they would have done if they hadn’t recovered the claw from the thief when she heard something. “What’s that sound?”

“What sound?” asked Lydia.

“I don’t hear anything,” added Halvard.

Jesper and Sniel just shrugged.

“It sounds like… chanting.” And it was growing louder. Daenerys couldn’t believe the others couldn’t hear it.

“Move in, carefully,” said Lydia. “And I fully expect there to be another draugr in that tomb. Probably a tough son of a bitch. We clear the rest of the room first. Then surround it.”

Daenerys moved slowly, but the chanting was distracting. The chant reminded her of **Yol** , but the words were unclear. She couldn’t quite catch their meaning. It felt like they were calling to her. At first, she thought that the tomb at the top of the stairs that was the source, but as they cleared the room and climbed the stairs, she realized the chanting wasn’t coming from the tomb.

“It’s coming from the wall.” She moved closer. She could almost make out the meaning…

**Fus**

She felt like she was a bell that had just been rung. The word vibrated in her being. **Fus** was almost too much to bear. Its meaning was perfectly clear. Force. Yet, none of the tongues she spoke captured the true meaning. **Fus** was the true meaning, written on the bones of creation. The word strained at her very being. She needed to speak it and claim it. Tears of pain blurred her vision, but the chanting was fading.

There was a fight going on. Her companions were fighting a draugr, but one more imposing and powerful than any seen before. It radiated a presence that reminded her of the Night King.

As she watched the creature Shouted. “ **Fus**! rh… da…”

The draugr had Shouted more than just **Fus** , but that word rang so much in her soul, that she couldn’t catch the rest. There wasn’t time for that now. The fight was going badly. Hjvatar had been knocked back by the thing’s Shout. Lydia and Jesper were barely holding their own. She forced herself to her feet and staggered up behind it. She spoke the word that was burning within her, “ **Fus**!” Instead of fire she called forth a raw wave of pure force.

Her Shout connected with the draugr and sent it tumbling down the stairs – a bad place to be because Lydia and Halvard were both in striking range. Before the creature could recover both had pounced. They rained blows down upon it and Jesper quickly joined them. None of them stopped hacking at it until they were sure it was dead.

Daenerys looked about and noticed that Sniel wasn’t missing. His corpse lay a few feet away with his guts splayed all over the floor. He had probably been the guard who trusted her least, but they were on the same side, and his death hurt.

Yet her remorse was overshadowed by the power inside her… being? Her soul? The word **Fus** had settled down and taken its place beside **Yol.** The word no longer fought her. It merely waited to be called upon again.


	7. Chapter 6

# Chapter 6

Middas, the 1st of Frostfall, Year 201 of the 4th Era

If not for the loss of Sniel, the expedition would have been a huge success. They found the Dragonstone which was merely a heavy burden, not something that needed a cart. The carvings on it looked somewhat like a map, but they were not easy to interpret. They also found a great deal of loot: from the bandits, from the draugr, and from several chests that they had to bash open. Lydia had muttered under her breath about bringing a thief along if she ever did this again after the third chest. Some of the weapons were even enchanted. They also collected a few oddities that Jesper claimed were alchemical ingredients: glowing mushrooms, skeever tails, spider eggs and such. He denied being an alchemist, he just knew some of the more common ingredients alchemists would pay gold to acquire.

However, lugging the corpse of Sniel wrapped in a burial shroud tarnished their victory. After a brief discussion, Lydia decided that they would transport the corpse to Sniel’s sister (and Jesper’s mother) in Riverwood for a proper Nord funeral pyre. 

Daenerys found the somber mood a blessing in a way. None of the Nords were inclined to question her about her collapse at the chanting wall, nor how she had learned another Word. **Fus** , force, still dwelled inside her alongside **Yol**. She wanted to Shout it out and let it free, to feel its power again, to master it. Could she use **Fus** to make a spell, the same way she’d learned Flames from **Yol**? Perhaps a spell to push things? If she could, that would be huge. Becoming a mage was like becoming a maester in Westeros. It took years of practice and study as an apprentice before one learned enough to be considered a competent mage. Further study still to become an expert. From what little she knew about the Greybeards, they spent their entire lives in isolation and contemplation to master Shouting. If there was one chanting wall in Deep Falls Barrow, then other barrows likely held walls as well. If she could learn more Words from them, then she might be able to master magic faster than studying for decades at either at the College of Winterhold or under the Greybeards.

However, Sniel’s corpse was a grim reminder that Nord barrows were not safe places to explore. Four warriors and a mage hadn’t been enough. Plus, Lydia had a point about the locked chests. Also, she could have easily died dancing between the swinging axes. It would have been nice to have someone along who knew how to pick locks and disarm traps. Unfortunately, the only people who cultivated such skills were thieves or assassins and couldn’t be trusted. Maybe, if she had enough gold, she could finance her own expeditions. Even a thief could be trusted if she brought enough warriors along. A sound plan on the surface, but she was far from rich. Her share of the loot would likely set her up better than weeks of working as a tavern wench. However, it wouldn’t be enough to hire mercenaries.

She also wondered about what it meant that she had heard the chanting while none of the others had. She had a gift, a talent for Shouting, but it felt like more than that. It felt like a sign. She had set her sights on learning magic because it was a path to a better life, but surely she had been brought to Tamriel for a reason. This was her first real glimpse at what that reason might be. Could she learn more Words by venturing into other barrows and finding other chanting walls?

Or was she reading signs where there were none? She had been so certain that the Red Comet was a sign and set her course by it through the Red Waste. That had led her to Qarth which had been a complete disaster. She had been so certain that she was meant to be Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. It was that certainty that had led her to burn King’s Landing. Jon Snow had stabbed her in the heart just moments after she first sat on the Iron Throne. When she thought about seeking out other chanting walls, she felt that same call to greatness. Was it the Targaryen madness? Yet, someone, some thing, some power had interfered to bring her to Tamriel, but why?

Daenerys kept these thoughts to herself while turning them over and over inside her head during the cold and somber journey back to Riverwood. She tried to stick to what she knew. Fact – she had a rare gift. She could learn words of power. She’d learned one from the dragon of Helgen. She’d learned another from the chanting wall. Fact – she refused to remain a tavern wench. She may never be a queen, but she would make something of herself. Fact – she lacked the allies and resources to explore barrows, at least for now.

So, was the College of Winterhold still the best path for her? Probably in the short term. She might not learn more about Shouting there, but she would learn magic. Even a little magic like Flames was highly useful. If she was going to explore barrows in the future, she needed to be able to better defend herself. Plus, they had a huge library. She might find records of others who had a gift for Shouting. Yes, for now it was her best path. Perhaps, someday she would be in a better position to explore a barrow.

When they reached Riverwood, Lydia dismissed Halvard and Jesper to attend to Sniel’s funeral arrangements. They still had to return to Whiterun, but they would remain in Riverwood for one day to rest and for Sniel’s funeral pyre. That left her to accompany Lydia as she sold most of their loot to Alvor the Smith and Lucan Valerius at the Riverwood Trader. Lydia wasn’t a good trader. She started to accept the first price they offered. Daenerys jumped in and haggled the offers upward. She also reminded Lucan of the reward money he’d promised for the return of the claw.

The next day she spent with Gerdur and Hod resting up. The mill wasn’t in operation, so she didn’t dare try practicing Shouting. Instead, she asked some questions about how bounties and mercenaries worked in Skyrim. From what she could gather the whole thing was completely disorganized. In Skyrim there was no mercenary guild. The closest thing was the Companions in Whiterun. There were mercenary troops, but most of them had been snapped up by the Stormcloaks or Imperials. There were always individuals who styled themselves mercenaries, bounty hunters, tomb raiders, or adventurers, but mostly they took care of smaller threats. Gerdur clearly saw through her sudden interest in mercenaries.

“The bards sing of the glories and riches of the adventuring life. What they don’t sing about is that most would-be adventurers end up dead in a ditch somewhere. You can Shout, Daenerys, but you are no warrior maid. If it is gold you want, your idea of going to the College in Winterhold is a better one. Magecraft pays well.”

“I know that I’m no warrior,” assured Daenerys. “I’m still planning to go to Winterhold.” That much was true for now, but in the future things might be different.

It was with an eye to that future that she went to Sniel’s funeral pyre. She hadn’t liked Sniel much in life, but he had fought beside her. She wanted to keep the respect of Halvard, Jesper, and Lydia. Having contacts with the guards of Whiterun couldn’t hurt. She kept her mixed feelings to herself. The funeral was followed by heavy drinking and drunk Nords exchanging stories of Sniel. Halvard spoke the most. He shared many stories of fighting beside Sniel in the Imperial army during the war with the Aldmeri Dominion. From his description battlemages were almost as terrifying to face in combat as one of her dragons.

Lydia was impatient on their return journey. While she had authorized the extra day to rest and for Sniel’s funeral, she clearly wanted to get the Dragonstone back to Whiterun. Unfortunately, the weather continued to be uncooperative. It rained on and off all day long, and even when the rain let up, the sun stayed hidden behind the clouds. It was cold miserable weather. Most would stay home warm and dry. Unfortunately, they had no choice. Apparently, the mudcrabs loved the weather. The beasts normally stayed hidden near the river, but twice they had to fight off mudcrabs that had wandered onto the road. Between the rain and the mud, they made slow progress. Lydia eventually called it a night and they made camp. The clouds passed in the night and the morning was chilly but clear. They made better time and arrived in Whiterun before noon. Lydia dismissed everyone, sending the guards to their barracks and settling Daenerys into a room in the servant’s wing.

.oOo.

It was midafternoon when Daenerys was finally summoned to meet Jarl Balgruuf. Lydia came to fetch and lead her to the Jarl’s council chambers rather than his throne room. She felt more comfortable with this audience. This time she had at least knew the names of all the players before she arrived. The dour and distrusting Dunmer was Jarl Balgruuf’s personal housecarl, Irileth. The balding imperial adviser was Proventus Avenicci. Farengar lurked near the shadows being all mysterious with his hood pulled down. Lydia escorted her inside, and Jarl Balgruff sat in a chair in front of a table covered in maps and paperwork.

Jarl Balgruff beckoned her forward. “Daenerys of Helgen, you’ve done me a service.” He lifted a hand and wagged a finger at her. “You also held out on me. You are more than a mere hedge mage. You can Shout.”

“I can,” agreed Daenerys with a forced smile. Lydia had said she would tell the Jarl and now far too many people knew. She knew good and well that there was no use in complaining about it. Her secret was out, but at least the Jarl seemed pleased with her. He could have easily taken offense at her keeping secrets from him.

“You’ll understand that I won’t ask for a demonstration.” He chuckled at his own joke. “It appears that I owe you a few septims for your help. You may also have one of the enchanted items that was recovered as well as that letter of recommendation that you wanted. Are you still set on joining the College of Winterhold?”

“That was my plan.” She kept her tone respectful. She had a feeling that the jarl might be about to volunteer her for another dangerous assignment.

“Would you consider joining my service? Farengar has his own duties. I could use a mage to support the Whiterun guards. Lydia has advised me that you are capable, brave, and showed good judgment in Bleak Falls Barrow.”

Daerneyrs took a moment to consider just what the Jarl was offering. Joining the Jarl’s service would certainly be several steps up the social ladder from being a tavern wench, and even better than being a hedge mage. It would mean a steady income and a roof over her head most of the time. Since her magic was all offensive, it probably also meant dealing with bandits or other problems facing Whiterun. However, it would also mean bending the knee to the Jarl, and a part of her rebelled at the idea of swearing to any noble. She had curtsied out of respect to his position, and been pressured into joining his expedition, but this would be different. She would be subject to his orders. She didn’t like it. On the other hand, if she could learn magic and get paid for it, she might swallow her pride. “Would Farengar be able to teach me magic? Or someone else in Whiterun?”

Farengar shook his head beneath his cowl. “Well, I’m afraid that I’m not much good with teaching, and as the jarl said, I’m very busy with this dragon business. I could loan you some books, but that’s about all. Technically speaking, I’m the only wizard in Whiterun. The city is also home to a priest, priestess, an alchemist, and I'm sure others with minor talents.”

“I see,” and she did. This wasn’t a good deal for her. This was a dead-end for her. She’d gain status and a steady income, but she would stay a hedge mage. While that was better than a tavern wench, she had other options. “While I do appreciate the offer, I wish to study magic at the College of Winterfell.”

“Winterhold,” corrected the Jarl. His jocular tone had faded and turned brusque. “Very well. If you change your mind, speak with Irileth. I thank you for your service. May the gods watch over your journey. Lydia, show her to the armory, pay her, and give her a pick of the spoils.”

She knew a dismissal when she heard one. She gave a quick curtsey and followed Lydia out into the hallways.

“This way.” Lydia led the way through the hallways walking quickly.

After many hallways and two sets of stairs, they arrived at the armory in the basement. It was located beneath the barracks and adjacent to the jail cells. Guards bustled about, some on duty and some not. The armory itself was full of weapons from daggers to claymores and armor from leathers to full steel plate. Upon a table sat a mace, a circlet, and some scrolls.

“Take your pick. Halvard and Jesper already claimed a weapon each. I imagine you will want the Scroll of Fireball.”

Daenerys was loosely familiar with the concept of scrolls as a way of storing spells. “Unfortunately, a small child can read Tamrielic better than I. What are the other two items?”

“The mace absorbs souls. Useful if you want to take up Enchanting, I suppose. The other is a Circlet of Alchemy.”

Daenerys frowned. Items to boost two skills she had no intention of learning. She had too much to do already. The mace was far too heavy for her and she had no skill with such a weapon. The circlet at least looked lighter. Maybe she would study alchemy someday. “I’ll take the circlet.” If nothing else, she could sell it for a few septims.

Lydia nodded. “Your choice. Your share of the loot is in this chest over here, 232 septims.”

That was about what she had been expecting from helping Lydia sell their loot. It was a lot more than she would earn in weeks as a tavern wench. Enough money to support herself for quite a while. While she wouldn’t be hiring any mercenaries, it would hopefully be enough to get her to Winterhold and pay for someone to tutor her in reading.

“Thank you, Lydia.” She wasn’t certain if Lydia disapproved of her declining the Jarl’s offer or if she was just being a Nord and focused on duty.

“You’re welcome, and good luck Daenerys.”

.oOo.

Daenerys left Dragonreach with determination in every step. In her pack she had a letter of recommendation and enough coin to survive on for many months. She was not beholden to anyone, free to chart her own course, and a destination firmly in mind. She even had her next step planned. Wagoneers routinely traveled in caravans between the major holds. There was safety in numbers on the roads of Skyrim. For a fee she could join a caravan heading north. Hopefully, she could find a caravan leaving for Winterhold, but Windhelm would do as well. From Windhelm she could take passage on a ship and likely arrive even sooner. Sooner might be better. Winter was fast approaching and very little travel happened in Skyrim during the winter months. As cold as it would be to spend the winter in a place called Winterhold, it would still be better than being snowed in somewhere else until spring.

Whiterun was an easy city to navigate as long as you kept to the main streets. Daenerys went down the stairs toward the dead Gildergreen. Traffic was light in the late afternoon and she found herself delightfully anonymous. Most of the people passing were Nords. With her pale hair and furs, she blended right in. It wasn’t until she reached the stairs to the lower city that anyone even tried to talk to her. 

A young girl dressed in a worn and repaired dress stepped up to her. The girl positioned herself carefully, just close enough to be obvious, not blocking her path, and far enough away that she could dart away to avoid a kick. The girl’s face didn’t have any of the roundness that a well-fed child of her years would have. “Could you spare a coin?”

Daenerys paused and nodded in agreement. “Yes, child, I can.” While her stash of coins wouldn’t last forever, she remembered living on the streets of Pentos. She moved over to one of the nearby benches and removed her pack. “Tell me your name.”

“Lucia, ma’am.” She fidgeted from one foot to the other.

“Why are you begging on the streets?” Daenerys couldn’t resist asking as she carefully reached into her pack for coin. She had no intention of flashing her purse.

“It's... it's what Brenuin said I should do. He's the only one that's been nice to me since... since mama...Since she died. My aunt and uncle took over our farm and threw me out. Said I wasn't good for anything. I wound up here, but... I… I don't know what to do. I miss her so much...”

Despite knowing that her stash of coin might have to last her some time, Daenerys counted out not one but three coins. It wasn’t enough, but she pressed the coins into Lucia’s hand. “These are for you, little one.”

“Oooh, thank you, Lady!” The girl ran off, skipping as she went.

Daenerys got back up with a heavy sigh. She couldn’t feed every urchin in Whiterun. Nor was she a noble who could order others to feed them. She wondered if Lucia even had a warm place to sleep. If not, she likely wouldn’t survive the winter. The wheel turned here on Tamriel just as it had in Essos and Westeros. The smallfolk suffered as always. A memory of the screams from King’s Landing drifted up, haunting her, a reminder that she’d probably killed more smallfolk in one day than lived in the entire city of Whiterun.

.oOo.

The sun glowed low in the sky by the time she reached the stables just outside Whiterun where the wagoneers gathered. The place bustled with people and wagons. Winter was fast approaching and what fields weren’t harvested already were in the process of being harvested. While most of the crops would undoubtedly be stored and eaten locally, a small percentage would be shipped all over Skyrim. Merchants, wagoneers, and farmers bustled about busily, buying and selling. There was a greater mix of races present than usual. She saw what had to be Khajiit for the first time. She had thought the feline humanoids would look like lions, but the ones she saw were lean of frames and reminded her more of the feral cats that roamed the alleys of Pentos. After repeatedly asking directions and being ignored half the time, she was finally directed to someone who might help.

Wagon Master Bjorlam was a blond and healthy Nord in his prime years. He was solidly built and had a confident air to him. “Aye, I’ll be heading to Winterhold in the morning. It will take us two or three weeks depending on the weather, and we’ll pass by Fort Kastav – the Stormcloaks have claimed it now. They’ll likely stop and search us. Don’t really know why. Not like any Imperial spies would admit it. Cost is 50 septims if you’re walking alongside. 100 septims to ride in a wagon. Payable upfront.”

That was a bit more than she’d expected to pay, but she knew that was just the opening price. “And what protection do you have? How many guards will be traveling with us?”

“I’ve hired three of my own, Sagyval is bringing two along, and we have a score of armed men traveling with us. You’ll be safe, lass. Bandits are cowards. They hit small parties.”

Daenerys smiled. “That wasn’t my point.” She held up her hand and allowed just a trickle of fire to dance in her palm. “I’m a mage heading to the College. I can help with the protecting. Let’s call it 20 septims to walk alongside.”

“Mage, hrmph. Can you show me something other than fire? Because fire and wooden wagons don’t mix very well.”

“No, just fire.” She wasn’t about to use **Fus** just to impress a Wagon Master, and she hadn’t yet figured out if she could make a spell based on the principles of force.

“So, you’re a hedge mage then. 40 septims.”

“30.”

“35, my final offer.”

“Agreed. 20 now and 15 when we arrive.”

“Agreed. We leave tomorrow at dawn. You can sleep here tonight. You’re responsible for your own bedroll, tent, and feeding yourself along the way.”

Daenerys took out her pack so she could get the coins. She had a bedroll, but she didn’t fancy sleeping in the rain. “And do you know where I can buy a tent?”


	8. Chapter 7

# Chapter 7

Sundas, the 5th through Loredas, the 18th of Frostfell, Year 201 of the 4th Era

While the caravan departed Whiterun promptly at dawn, they left slowly. They were far from the only wagon train departing, and it was also harvest time. The single road leaving Whiterun was clogged with wagons and people on foot. Daenerys took advantage of the slow pace to walk the caravan from front to back and acquaint herself with her fellow travelers. There were ten wagons in the caravan and about a dozen people walking alongside. Wagon Master Bjorlam led the way and his wagon had five people in the back. Seven of the wagons were carrying foodstuffs for winter: ground flour, salted meat, cabbages, leeks, gourds and such. Those wagons were being pulled by eight to ten oxen instead of the horses. She asked one of the drivers and confirmed her hunch that probably half the oxen would be sold and slaughtered upon arrival in Winterhold. One wagon was carrying nothing but ale. The final wagon belonged to Sagyval the spice merchant.

Sagyval’s wagon was drawn by four horses and was smaller than most. His goods were all tied down and covered with tarps. He had two guards riding in back, both kept bows close at hand. The guards had a sense of alertness and restrained violence of seasoned warriors. Sagyval and his guards were all a little short for Nords and darker of skin. Sagyval himself had short-cropped brown hair and eyes so blue they were almost gray. He was clean-shaven, another clue that he wasn’t a Nord. He was dressed for the road in common sturdy cloth, but he had a heavy gray fur cloak that appeared to be made from wolf pelts. Daenerys guessed he and his men were likely Bretons, a guess that was confirmed as soon as she heard his accent.

“I say, what’s a lady like you doing walking alongside a caravan in Skyrim?”

“What?” She wasn’t sure what to make of his comment, but her reflex was to deny. “I’m not a lady.”

“If you’re not a lady, I’m a half-giant.” Sagyval joked. He had a pleasant voice, deep and smooth, but he spoke like a rake. “I make my living buying and selling, so I know how to read people. You have the carriage of a noble. Not to mention your hair. I can tell you did your own braiding. I’m sure you are used to having help, but even braiding your own hair, no commoner would take such effort unless it was for their wedding day. So, who are you, really?”

“Daenerys.” She wasn’t sure what to make of this merchant. He saw more deeply than even Delphine had, or perhaps he was simply more direct in sharing his insights.

“Daenerys,” he scoffed. “No, too plain, too simple. Daenerys of what house? And where are you from? I’ve never seen a Nord with hair so pale. It’s almost white. You’re too fair of skin for Breton, and I’ve never seen a human with eyes that shade.”

She certainly wasn’t going to say House Targaryen. “Daenerys the Unburnt, if you must have a cognomen.”

“The Unburnt...” He snapped his fingers. “You’re the girl from Helgen.”

Daenerys controlled her reaction. She hadn’t intended to give away that connection. “I’m merely a hedge mage, travelling to the College of Winterhold to study magic.”

“A hedge mage? I can believe that you know a little magic. That you intend to the join the College of Winterhold fits. However, you are not ‘merely’ anything Daenerys the Unburnt. There is room up here on the seat. Climb aboard, sit beside me, and we can talk. It’s a long boring journey. I could use some pleasant conversation to pass the time.”

Daenerys weighed this offer. There was no virtue in walking. Even if Sagyval only allowed her to ride today, talking to an obviously intelligent man was less boring than walking all day. Yes, he was insightful, but he had already linked her to the dragon attack on Helgen. She had few secrets left to hide that he could possibly unearth. No matter how perceptive he was, he wasn’t going to simply discern that she could Shout or that she was from Planetos unless she gave it away. His eyes kept glancing downward. No doubt, he had an excellent view of her cleavage from up there on the wagon. Most likely, he was just seeking to get into her skirts. That was something she knew how to handle.

“I accept with one condition.”

“And what is this one condition?”

“I prefer not to talk about my past.”

Sagyval laughed out loud. “Well then, we will just have to talk about my favorite subject – me.”

.oOo.

Riding beside Sagyval was certainly less tiring and more pleasant than walking. Daenerys soon found that he had been honest when he claimed that his favorite topic was himself. He was a Breton from Evermore in High Rock, the youngest of three brothers of a mercantile family. While he sometimes varied his route, he dealt with small luxury goods. He carried spices, rare wines, potions, ingredients, and such from the High Rock to Skyrim. This trip he had acquired some rare books that he hoped to sell at the College of Winterhold at a good price. In Winterhold he planned to load up on furs and ivory. Apparently, horkers were a much safer source of ivory than mammoths. By buying directly from the hunters, he cut out the middleman and would turn an obscene profit both ways on this journey.

As the day continued, she decided the man simply loved to talk. A simple question she asked about shipping turned into a long-winded explanation of the relative risks of caravans versus ships. While ships carried more cargo and travelled much faster, the seas of Skyrim were ravaged by storms and infested with pirates. Sagyval’s eldest brother had disappeared at sea. He’d set sail from Solitude, and neither he nor his ship was ever heard from again.

Sagyval flirted with her in a manner that reminded her of Daario, full of confidence that he would eventually charm her balanced with a patience that did not expect her to be easily seduced. Daenerys found herself evaluating him as a possible lover. While she had received more than one proposition while working as a tavern maid, those had been Nords hoping for a simple tryst. Sagyval was interested in more than her body, although she certain he knew his way around a woman’s body. It stirred her emotions and confused her. The memories of her betrayal at the hands of her last lover were still strong.

However, even if she could bring herself to trust Sagyval enough to let him into her bed, it would be very foolish. Her courses had returned since she arrived in Skyrim. That meant she could conceive again. There were possible ways around pregnancy. She could try to time her cycle, but that was far from certain. There was also a potion known as Diabella’s Tears that would stop a pregnancy. However, Diabella’s Tears weren’t cheap. The potion was also a mild poison that would leave her sick for days – assuming she could even bring herself to take it. After having lost Rhaego to the treachery of Mirri Maz Duur, even the thought of killing her own babe made her sick to her stomach. Unfortunately, she faced the same risks as the vast majority of women on both Planetos and Nirn – taking a lover meant risking the possibility of pregnancy. She liked Sagyval. She enjoyed his attentions, but she didn’t want to marry him or bear his child.

Despite her conflicted emotions about finding Sagyval attractive, Daenerys enjoyed his company. While he didn’t directly ask her about her past, he did work in little questions, like if she had ever sailed on a ship before. It was clear that he enjoyed the mystery of her past and still expected to unravel it. If she didn’t come from a world beyond his experience, he probably would have coaxed the clues out of her.

On the second day out from Whiterun, their caravan encountered a man dressed as a jester whose wagon had broken down while transporting a coffin. It was almost time to make camp and their wagon master decided to stop early so they could help the jester. Cicero, as the jester styled himself, tried to entertain the caravan while three wagoneers repaired his cart. He failed miserably. The way he referred to himself in the third person and joked about his dead mother wasn’t at all funny. However, it was his eyes that bothered Daenerys the most.

Sagyval seemed to agree with her intuition. He motioned her back from the crowd of wagoneers that the jester had attracted. “Daenerys, don’t turn you back on that one for an instant.”

“I knew that already.” She found herself drawing closer to Sagyval anyway. “There was no laughter in his eyes.”

“No, he has the cold dead eyes of a killer. There are men who kill because they must. There are men, especially Nords, who go berserk in battle. Then there are those who enjoy the kill. I’d bet my cart that this ‘Cicero’ is such a man. Would you make your camp by mine tonight?”

“I will, but for protection. I’ll have my own tent and my own bedroll. Don’t be getting any ideas.” Her attempt at humor fell flat. Sagyval was right about Cicero’s eyes. They reminded her of Arya Stark, the face of a little girl, but the eyes of a killer.

.oOo.

Fortunately, Cicero was heading south and did not join their caravan. The next day brought a lecture from the wagon master that they would be passing to the east of the giant encampment of Blizzard’s Rest. He warned everyone that if they did see a giant or mammoths to stay far away and give no cause for them to attack. He emphasized that both giants and mammoths were peaceful unless provoked. The warning was probably unnecessary. They saw no giants, only mammoths, and those from a great distance.

The real danger came shortly after they passed Blizzard’s Rest. A distant roar from somewhere north of them cut across the sounds of the forest and interrupted her conversation with Sagyval.

“What was that?” asked one of Sagyval’s guards. “Didn’t sound like a troll.”

“Dragon.” She knew the roar of hunting dragon very well and it sent shivers up her spine.

“Are you certain?” asked Sagyval.

“Yes! I’m certain!” she snapped back. Then she raised her voice. “Dragon! Everyone get your wagons off the road and into the trees.”

Panicked cries of dragon went up and down the caravan, much too loud for her liking. She was already jumping down and hastening into the woods.

Sagyval jumped down, took the reins of his horses and followed her lead. “Will this work?”

“If we’re lucky,” Daenerys whispered. Her heart was beating fast. She didn’t like the feeling of being prey. The dragon at Helgen had saved her, but this was a different dragon. “Dragons hunt by sight, not scent. A wagon train moving on a road can be seen from miles away in the air. Scattered among the trees and not moving, we’re much less obvious. He may pass us by.”

Sagyval nodded to his guards. “Go help the others and pass her wisdom along to the wagon master. I’d rather some fool didn’t draw a dragon down upon us.”

When she had encountered the dragon at Helgen, he had almost overwhelmed her by his mere presence. He had been ancient and powerful. That stood out in her mind even though her memories of that time were confused. This dragon also had a presence, but he was a mere child in comparison. Still, even a young dragon was deadly. She was weak. She could survive dragonfire, but if he found her, he would rend her with teeth and claws.

Another roar rang out. He was louder, growing closer, and more triumphant.

“He’s spotted something.”

Sagyval stared at her. “How do you know?” he whispered.

“I was at Helgen,” she lied. Now was not the time to explain that she knew dragons. Even if she could explain, she was more concerned about whether she was going to live to see tomorrow.

The dragon roared a third time with the thrill of the hunt as he passed by at some distance from them. The trees hid him from view, but some people in the caravan still cried out foolishly in fright. Fortunately, the dragon didn’t even change his course. He must have spotted other prey.

Daenerys almost collapsed in relief, but she quickly rushed out to the road trying to catch a glimpse of the dragon while orienting herself. He was heading back the way they came, but a little to the west. She caught a glimpse of brown wings in the skies. “Blizzard’s Rest. He’s heading toward the giant encampment.”

“Then it didn’t see us?”

“If he did, he didn’t care. Mammoths and giants are much more visible from the air than wagons hiding among trees. He found better prey. I expect he’ll find plenty to sate his appetite. We should get moving regardless – just in case he decides to come back.”

Sagyval looked at her, and this time she saw calculation in his eyes, like he was sizing her up for sale. “You know more than you’re letting on.”

Daenerys shook her head. “I prefer not to talk about it.”

.oOo.

Sagyval treated her differently after the dragon attack. He was suspicious where he had once been jovial and flirtatious. The rest of the caravan treated her differently as well. They were very respectful, but also more guarded. It was lonely, but probably for the best. She started walking again. For most of a day, she reviewed the encounter with the dragon over and over inside her head, picking it apart to try to understand why she had felt the way she had. She had felt the dragon, known things about him – like his gender. She was absolutely certain he had been male. She had always felt a connection to Rhaegal, Viserion, and Drogon. She had always believed that connection had been forged when she hatched them in fire. Yet, she had known so much about the other dragon without getting so much as a glimpse of him. She was still certain that hiding had been the correct action. If she had stood out in the open, he wouldn’t have bowed to her as the Mother of Dragons. No, he would have taken it as a challenge and attacked.

Where had these certainties come from? Had it been her encounter with the ancient dragon in Helgen? He had saved her, appearing just as she knelt with her head on the chopping block. He had breathed upon her and spoken the word **Yol**. After that things got confusing. She had struggled to hold **Yol** inside her, fought to control the Word and keep it from consuming her. All while running naked through the chaos all around her. No wonder stories had been told. She vaguely remembered following Ralof, but it wasn’t until the Imperials attacked her beneath Helgen that she finally spoke **Yol** for the first time. After that her memories weren’t as fuzzy. She had still lacked the language, but she had an ally in Ralof, and an enemy in the Imperials. Kill or die made everything simple.

Still, even as she fought to escape, she had sensed the dragon above. She had just known that he was ancient, powerful, and dominant. Somehow from the depths of the dungeon, she had also felt him raging against the stronghold of Helgen. Why had he attacked? Had he come to save her? If so, why had he ignored her after saving her to go on a rampage? That didn’t make sense. Yet, for him to show up just in time to save her from the axe and to bless her with **Yol** – that was too much to be mere coincidence. There had to have been some deeper purpose to it.

After a day of fretting over dragons, she set the incident aside. As important as those mysteries might be to her future in Skyrim, they weren’t anything she could solve in the wilderness. However, there was something she could do before she arrived at the College of Winterhold. By meditating on the word **Yol** and truly understanding it, she had learned to cast Flames. She intended to master **Fus** the same way.

 **Yol** had come easily to her. **Yol** was fire. She understood fire. She had never feared fire. She even embraced it, but **Yol** had taught her to understand fire. **Yol** wasn’t just present in a burning blaze. **Yol** was present in a candleflame, in the smallest spark. **Yol** was even present within her. She wasn’t a cold dead corpse. She burned within.

 **Fus** was harder for her. It didn’t help that she to meditate and walk at the same time. Still, walking was tedious, and she was stubborn. Daenerys opened her heart to the Word, and she began to understand that **Fus** was truly all around her. **Fus** was force, any force. **Fus** wasn’t just hard jarring impacts, like a mace striking a shield, or the crash of a felled tree when it hit the ground. **Fus** was as simple as walking staff striking the ground. **Fus** was the ground pushing back. **Fus** was the wind pressing against her. **Fus** was in her breath when she exhaled pushing the air back.

She put aside all thoughts of meditation and magic when they arrived at the Nightgate Inn. It marked the midpoint of their journey, but for Daenerys the most important thing was that she could get a bed, a bath, and a hot meal for the low price of ten septims. While she was trying to save her stash of coin for her future, this was ten septims well-spent. After a hot bath and a good night’s sleep, she felt refreshed and ready to face the second half of their long trek.

She even managed to patch things up with Sagyval enough that she rode beside him some of the time. Their conversation was much shallower than it had been before. Mostly she asked questions about the various places he had been, which was most every city in Skyrim and High Rock and many more beyond. He was a font of information filling in many gaps she had about Tamriel. He also seemed to accept that she wouldn’t talk about her past, and he didn’t challenge her on it again.

However, she also spent much of her time walking so she could work on tapping into **Fus** and projecting it from her hands as she did **Yol**. Two days after leaving the Nightgate inn she had a breakthrough and managed it for the first time. As she had expected, when cast as a spell it wasn’t nearly as effective as a Shout, but she could tap into **Fus** and use the concept of force to project an invisible wave of force from either hand. She hadn’t heard the spell mentioned before, so she decided to just call it Shove until she got to the College of Winterhold and could find out its proper name.

As the wagon master had warned when she signed up, the Stormcloaks controlled Fort Kastav and insisted on searching the wagon train when they arrived at the fort. Daenerys only had her pack and a small stash of gold, so her search was over quickly. Interestingly, the Stormcloaks pulled Sagyval’s wagon aside and forced him to unpack everything on it. They then appeared to confiscate several large crates. However, she noticed that Sagyval had received a large bag of what was likely gold. She also knew him well enough to tell that his curses and scowls were an act. Despite the show he put on, he wasn’t at all displeased.

As they walked away, she probed him about the exchange. “So, those were some heavy crates the Stormcloaks confiscated.”

Sagyval met her gaze and held it. “I prefer not to talk about it.”

.oOo.

Two days later they were approaching the end of their journey. After Fort Kastav their journey was still hilly, but they were going downhill more often than not. They were also exposed to the cold winds from the north. The wind varied from merely cold, to biting, to numbing as they trudged across the frozen terrain. Dark gray clouds hid the sun and snow came down in flurries that would be pretty if it wasn’t so cold. None of the Nords complained, so Daenerys kept her thoughts on finally reaching their destination. At this point the prospect of a hot bath and a warm bed kept her walking more than the possibility of learning magic.

The roar of a dragon ripped her out of pleasant daydreams about hot baths. Horses reared. Men and women screamed. She looked up searching for the source. In the distant sky she could barely make out the gray and white wings against the background of gray clouds. While it was far away, it was closing fast.

One of the wagoneers shouted at her. “You, Daenerys! What do we do?”

Her immediate thought was that they were all going to die. While this dragon wasn’t as strong as the dragon of Helgen, he was far stronger than the young one in the forest. They had absolutely no chance of fighting it. However, that didn’t mean she had to just give up.

“We flee!” She raised her voice to a yell. “Leave the animals! Leave the wagons! Scatter! Run and hide! It’s your only hope of survival!”

The wagoneer looked at her and shook his head. “There’s nowhere to run.” He drew an axe.

The man wasn’t alone. Others were drawing weapons and preparing to fight. Daenerys wasn’t going to waste her breath trying to argue with fools. She threw away her walking stick and ran as fast as she could, heading west toward the mountains. Once off the road, the terrain was a treacherous rocky hillside covered with snow. Her feet slipped more than once as she tried to put distance between her and the doomed caravan.

The dragon roared again with anticipation as she closed in fast. Daenerys glanced back and could see the dragon was making straight for the caravan. Daenerys also saw she wasn’t alone in running. Some others had followed her lead and were scattering as well. Maybe some would live, but fear for her own life pushed those thoughts aside. She ran full out, limbs pumping, heart racing, feet skidding on the uneven terrain. The slope increased, and she scrambled up and over a low hill. She threw herself to the snowy ground on the other side. Cautiously she turned and crept back up the hill, so she could peek over the top and see what was happening.

The dragon had reached the caravan. She swooped in a strafing run. She breathed as she passed over the wagon train and her breath wasn’t fire, but a plume of what looked like a white flame. Men and beast cried out as they died, not in blaze of fire, but in the cold embrace of ice. Wagons toppled and rolled. The dragon banked wide and then came about for another pass. It roared and breathed ice again.

Daenerys felt like she had been frozen in place as well, not by cold, but by fear. In the roar she could hear words: Fo – Krah – Diin. They didn’t ring inside her soul, nor did she know what they meant, just that they did have meaning. She could repeat the sounds, but the sounds wouldn’t be Words. She could guess they were about cold, but that was just reasoning, not the certainty of meaning branded on her soul. She continued watching and the dragon continued attacking.

Something was wrong with the battle. It shouldn’t be taking this long. It should have been over in one strafing pass, two at most. The dragon wasn’t attacking as she should. Instead of maintaining her breath and sweeping icy death across the entire battlefield, she was only using her ice breath in short controlled bursts. Then she would pause and just fly around before attacking again. It made no sense. It wasn’t because she was an ice dragon. After being claimed by the Night King, Viserion had still been capable of sustained blasts of… blue flames. This dragon breathed white. She could also hear the words, Fo – Krah – Diin, with every blast. Was she just playing with its prey? Or did the dragon need time to recharge between Shouts?

In any case, the battle was taking longer, and this hilltop wasn’t a good hiding place. She turned and considered her options. One side sloped down into a gully that curved back toward the battle and death. Following the ridgeline was a bad choice as well. The only good choice was going up a rock-strewn slope. It looked to be a difficult climb to gain the next crest.

She forced herself to her feet, ignored the roars and battle cries, and scrambled upward. The climb wasn’t easy. The rocks were covered in snow and ice, but it wasn’t as bad as she feared. She pressed forward and didn’t look back. The roars of the dragon told her the fight raged on. After several tense minutes, some bruises, and scraped hands, she pulled herself to the top. What she found was a much better hiding place. The crest of this hill was rocky and irregular providing good cover.

She nestled down among the rocky outcroppings and turned back to watch. The battle must be nearing its end. The dragon had landed. While she continued to breathe ice, she was also fighting with tooth and fang. Daenerys watched grimly, waiting for the dragon to slaughter everyone and everything – only then would the dragon eat her fill. After that she would fly away to nest in her lair and sleep.

Daenerys lay on her belly on the cold hilltop and cried as she watched. She didn’t even know why it hurt so much. This hadn’t been her fault. She hadn’t led this caravan like she’d led her khalasar into the Red Waste. She wasn’t slaughtering innocents as she had at King’s Landing. She’d barely known anyone in the caravan except Sagyval. She had done the smart thing, the correct thing. They hadn’t had any weapons that could harm a dragon. It would have taken a ballista to kill the dragon. Maybe a powerful crossbow could injure one, but with a regular bow it would have taken a spectacularly lucky shot to hit an eye or a wing joint. Fleeing had been the smart thing. If she had stayed, she’d be dead by now. However, it felt wrong.

She watched helplessly as the battle slowly ended and the dragon began to gorge. She could just see it moving around. That was good. That meant it wouldn’t easily spot her. The dragon gorged and gorged, and then it curled up and lay there. Daenerys watched for a while until she was certain that the dragon had really gone to sleep. She had been so certain the dragon would fly off to her lair, but with a frozen feast of corpses, the dragon had apparently decided to stay for a few days.

Even with the dragon sleeping, Daenerys didn’t dare head back to the caravan. Instead, she started picking her way through the snow-covered foothills. While the dragon appeared to be sleeping, she wanted to be well out of sight before risking a return to the road. She tried to parallel the road, keeping it in sight while still having cover in which to hide in case the dragon woke up. Unfortunately, the broken terrain didn’t always give her a choice of pathways. Somewhere along the way she lost sight of the road. That wasn’t good, but she wasn’t completely lost. The mountains were still to the west. All she needed was to find a way down, and she would surely find the Imperial road. She continued on as best she could until she stepped on a patch of snow that gave way beneath her feet.

She found herself skidding, bumping, and rolling down a steep rocky incline only to slam hard against a cliff face. Dazed and in pain, she tried to reach into her belt pouch for a healing potion. She couldn’t force her right arm to move. She wasn’t sure if it was broken, but even trying to bend it hurt. Potentially worse, blood continued to seep from long jagged cut down the entire length of her arm. She managed to open her pouch with her left hand, only to find the potion bottle smashed. Painfully she worked her way out of her backpack. She had two remaining healing potions packed securely in her backpack. Working with only her left hand, she managed to dig them out and downed them one after the other. The potions stopped the bleeding and she could move her arm again, but she still ached all over.

She forced herself to her feet and thanked all the gods for a small blessing. She’d found a trail. To be honest, it was little more than a goat track, but any path was better than continuing to climb up and down hillsides. It even seemed to be going roughly where she needed to go, so she followed it.

As the sky darkened her little footpath ended at a much larger pathway. This one was wider and looked more frequently traveled. One way sloped downward and would likely return to the Imperial road and eventually to Winterhold. The other way climbed up a steep mountainside. However, at the top of the mountain path was some kind of structure and she could see a fire burning. It was already twilight and the prospect of shelter was a lot more attractive than trying to walk through the night or camp alone along the road somewhere. On the other hand, there was no guarantee that whoever had set that fire was friendly. The long howl of a wolf coming from below her made her decision easy. She was in no shape to face wolves. She took the upward path.

While steep the path was surprisingly broad and easy to follow. The sky slowly darkened, but the setting sun peeked through the clouds painting the sky in shades of red. That’s when she heard the cry of another wolf and this time it was answered by another cry somewhere in front of her. A chill ran through her as she realized they were hunting her. From somewhere she found enough energy to start jogging.

The structure at the top of the building was tantalizing close, but still too far away. The main feature was an enormous statue of a woman, so it was probably some kind of temple. As she jogged she used Flames in short little bursts in the hope of keeping the wolves at bay. It seemed to be working. In the light of one little fire blasts, she saw an enormous white wolf, far too huge to be a normal one. Except that it had two ears, it might have been Ghost. As if wolves weren’t bad enough, these were dire wolves.

At least her Flames seemed to keep them back. Her sides were aching as she pushed herself to keep jogging. She thought she was going to make it when two wolves moved out onto the road in front of her blocking her way forward. She quickly glanced behind expecting more and found one charging her. She shouted “ **Yol,”** and the burst of flame threw the attacking wolf back toward two more dire wolves. She felt a sudden pain in her leg and was pulled down from behind. She turned and blasted Flames into a snarling wolf that was trying to rip out her throat. If she was going to die here, she would go down fighting.

Suddenly a burning woman appeared in a burst of flame and started throwing balls of fire at the dire wolves. The burning woman was accompanied by another woman who also started blasting fire at the dire wolves. In seconds half the remaining dire wolves were dead and the rest turned and fled. The burning woman abruptly vanished in a burst of flames.

The other woman hurried to Danerys. “Azura is watching over you, and so am I.” The woman bent down and golden light spread from her hands.

Daenerys felt the sharp pain in her leg ebb. All her aches and pains washed away. She stared up at her rescuer. She wore robes of gray the color of the overcast sky embroidered with the faded image of a eight pointed star, or maybe it represented the sun. Her hair was red as the sunset and her skin was as a gray as her robes – a Dunmer.

“Thank you.” The words didn’t feel adequate.

“You are welcome. Now come. We should get to the temple before the sun sets. Can you walk?”

“I can now. Thank you, again.” Daenerys got to her feet. She was still bloody, but she felt whole again. Her savior seemed unconcerned about the flaming woman that had appeared and vanished. Had she been some kind of spell?

“Then follow me.” The Dunmer priestess set off at a quick walk up the steep path.

Daenerys hurried after. It was amazing how close she had been to the top. It was just a few hundred yards more of the path before they reached the top. The statue of the goddess was silhouetted by the red glow of the setting sun. The goddess was very feminine. She was portrayed wearing an odd set of robes. In one hand she carried a star and in the other a moon. Goddess of the night, maybe? She could only remember two of the good deities that were female: Dibella and Mara. This wasn’t either of them, but she hadn’t paid too much attention to Nord religion. Clearly, this goddess wasn’t one of the evil ones.

The Dunmer turned back. “I’m sure you would like to bathe and rest, but it is just a little further. We must do this properly.”

Do what properly? It was hard to think past a bath and rest, but given that the priestess had saved her life, she was willing to indulge her. She shrugged her agreement. “As you wish.” She followed her to the top of the shrine where a huge brazier was filled with burning wood. This must have been the fire she’d seen down below.

Abruptly the priestess turned and bowed to her. “Hail, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Dragonborn. Welcome to the Shrine of Azura.”


	9. Chapter 8

# Chapter 8

Loredas, the 18th of Frostfall, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Abruptly the priestess turned and bowed to her. “Hail, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Dragonborn. Welcome to the Shrine of Azura.”

The Dunmer priestess then smiled broadly. “Oh, I have waited for years to say that. Come, let’s go inside. The nights are bitterly cold here at the north end of Skyrim. Let’s get you a bath and clean clothes. Then I will answer your questions while you eat.”

Daenerys was very much wrong-footed by the sudden shift of tone from solemn priestess to friendly, but she followed her anyway. While she did have questions, they could wait until she had a bath and clean clothes. 

Inside the temple felt like a mausoleum. Aranea guided her down a long empty corridor that led deeper into the structure. Bas-relief carvings upon the walls depicted a story. First there was a rock, or perhaps a comet hanging over a city. The next panel showed the city destroyed. That was followed by an erupting volcano and scenes of devastation. It reminded her of the Doom of Valyria, especially as the scene changed to ships escaping following a guiding star. The star motif was repeated in the next panel showing another mountain, perhaps this one, with the goddess Azura perched on the peak. She wasn’t sure if the story was mythological, historical, or both. Of course, her exposure to the history of Tamriel was limited to a few stories mostly about Nords.

The priestess opened a door to a tiled room lit by torches. This room was also decorated, but in mosaic tile rather than bas-relief. The walls seemed to reflect the view from outside to the north, south, east and west. However, the sun was shown just above the horizon on two walls: rising in the east and setting in the west. The room was rather small with a large bronze bathtub as the only fixture.

“The water has probably gone cold by now. Give me a moment to warm it up for you.” She then cast Flames at the bronze tub and held it for a long count. “That should do. I believe you know fire magic if it grows cold. I’ve left some clothes folded for you on that bench. I’ll go prepare us some food.”

“Wait,” commanded Daenerys.” While she was grateful for the rescue, she was tired of being passively led. “Before you go, you will tell me your name.”

The Dunmer smiled again and nodded approvingly. “I am High Priestess Aranea Ienith.”

The bath was hot, but not as hot as she liked it. Daenerys used her own fire magic to heat the bronze tub even hotter. As appealing as a hot bath had sounded, she couldn’t really enjoy it. Soap and hot water didn’t wash away guilt. Most, if not all, of her fellow travelers were dead now, and she had left them to die. Small drops of blood compared to the hundreds of thousands she’d slaughtered at King’s Landing, but their deaths still bothered her. She should have done something, but even now she couldn’t think of anything she could have done. She hadn’t even been able to fight off a few wolves. She had done the smart thing, but it didn’t feel like the right thing.

Only slightly less troubling was her savior, High Priestess Aranea Ienith. She knew too much. Although that wasn’t surprising given that she was a high priestess. Even on Planetos the Red Temple had ways of knowing things, as had Bran Stark. Here in Tamriel where magic was much more common, were seers still rare? Or merely uncommon? More importantly, how much did Aranea know? And what did she expect in return for saving her life?

Daenerys considered the gray woolen robe that Aranea had left for her. It was almost identical to the one the high priestess wore, but it lacked the star. Daenerys suspected that it was the robe of an initiate. She ignored it and dug into her pack. She didn't own many clothes and only the clothes she’d worn as a tavern wench were clean. While the Nords considered the cleavage daring, she thought it rather tame. She would have preferred something more impressive, but merely refusing to dress as an acolyte of this temple was making a statement.

Once dressed she wandered out into the hallways. The temple was designed to hold quite a few acolytes, but none were in evidence. She followed the lit torches down corridors and found a large dining room. Most of the room consisted of tables and benches that looked long unused. At the far end of the room was a large fireplace and kitchen area. Standing beside the fire was Aranea.

“I hope you enjoyed your bath. Please join me.” Aranea gestured toward the closest table where two places had been set along with bread and wine. “It’s goat stew. I eat a lot of goat. Plenty of goats up here on this mountain and not much else.”

“I like goat, and I have eaten much worse.” As she sat down, she remembered eating the raw heart of a stallion, the taste had been vile. Her stomach had rebelled, but she’d eaten it all. Not that it mattered in the end. She’d lost both the child and her lost love. That seemed like a lifetime ago now.

Aranea filled two bowls from the cooking pot and set them on the table. She sat down and then bowed her head. “We are children of the Twilight. Beings who are to be guided from the darkness into the light. And from the light into darkness. We give thanks to you, Azura, this day for your wisdom. As has been long foretold your champion has come. I give thanks to you for letting me be an instrument of your will, and to aid her on the last leg of her journey. Your foresight protects us. Your insight sustains us.”

Daenerys listened respectfully. She took particular note of being called a champion. For so long she had believed she had a great destiny: mother to the Stallion who Mounts the World, the Unburnt, Mother of Dragons, Breaker of Chains. She had followed that belief into madness. Now a new title – Champion This very day she had fled and left her companions to be slaughtered. The wolves had almost killed her. Out of respect for Aranea saving her life, she kept her silence, but she was no champion. What she wanted was answers, not more titles.

The priestess raised her head and filled two goblets with wine. “Please, eat.”

Daenerys sampled the stew. The goat flavor was strong, but not overpowering. She couldn’t name the spices, but it was surprisingly tasty. “It’s good.”

“You like it?” For the first time, the priestess showed surprise. “I toned down the spices, but even so some find traditional Dunmer cooking to be too spicy for their tastes.”

“I like spicy. The hotter the better, but as they say, hunger is the best seasoning, and I am as hungry for answers as I am for food.”

“Then ask, and I will endeavor to answer.”

The first question was easy. It had never been far from her thoughts since she woke up naked in a bed of ashes. “Who brought me to Tamriel and why?”

Aranea sighed. “Alas, the first question you ask of me, and I cannot answer. Azura shows me the future, not the present nor the past. I have known you were coming since before you were born, but your visage was shadowed until a few weeks ago. Since then she has given me glimpses of your future, but your past is a mystery to me."

Daenerys broke off a piece of bread and dipped it in her stew. She sensed no deception in the high priestess, just the fervor of the devoutly religious. “If that is the case, why did you hail me as you did?”

“Because in the past few weeks, Azura has started showing me visions of your future. I watched and listened as you introduced yourself using exactly those words standing in the hall of a jarl. Which hall, I couldn’t tell you." A brief frown crossed Aranea's face. "I have tried to find meaning in your titles. One of them, is easy to determine – the Unburnt. I had another vision of you fighting a dragon with several soldiers near a broken tower. The dragon breathed flames upon you, but you were unharmed. The title Dragonborn is more portentous. I have seen no vision concerning it, but I have made an extensive study of prophecy. I believe that the ancient prophecy of the Last Dragonborn may be finally coming to pass. If so, dark days are upon us all. The most obscure of your titles is that of House Targaryen. The library here is small and focused on the prophesies of Azura and her wisdom, but we do have a copy of Noble Houses of the Empire. It is an older copy, but I searched it, and found no mention of a House Targaryen. Nor have I ever heard the styling ‘first of her name’. I thought your house was simply new, or obscure, but if you were brought to Tamriel…" Aranea paused a moment, brow furrowed. "Are you from Atmora?"

Daenerys had never heard of Atmora before. Was that another world, a nation, a continent? She shook her head in negation. “Perhaps I will tell you later, but you promised to answer my questions, not ask more.”

Aranea gave a brief nod of her head. "So I did, and so I will. Please, continue with your questions.”

“What other visions have you seen of me?”

“I have the sense of many enemies around you, but most are still hidden in the twilight. Azura has only shown me a few clear visions. In one you stand atop a mountain speaking with an ancient dragon. He was huge but worn with tattered wings and chipped horns. In another I saw you standing near a floating orb larger than yourself. The orb was carved in eldritch runes and symbols. It radiated magical power. I have seen you practicing magic under the tutelage of a stern Altmer mage. You said, or did, something that astounded her. And lastly, I have seen you returning here to this temple as the Champion of Azura, bringing her star as proof.”

Daenerys listened attentively. She knew from her dealings with Red Priestesses that visions weren’t always obvious, but these seemed straightforward. She decided to address the last one first, because it might give her leverage. “What does it mean to be the Champion of Azura?”

“It means she has already chosen you. She sent me to aid you tonight on the mountain when the wolves beset you. Heed her warnings and they will be a light to guide you through the darkness.”

Daenerys shrugged. “I’m sorry. I do appreciate you saving me from the wolves, but what guidance?”

“Visions can be difficult to interpret, but Azura sometimes speaks to me as well. You must go to a fortress, endangered by water, yet untouched by it. Inside, you will find an elven mage who can turn the brightest star as black as night." She sighed. “I can tell you are skeptical. I know it is cryptic, but Azura's signs are never wrong. I believe the fortress may refer to Winterhold. Ask if they know this elven enchanter."

“Hmm, and you think this ‘brightest star’ is the lost Star of Azura? A holy artifact of your goddess?”

“Yes, precisely.”

“So, why doesn’t she just tell me where to find it? Rather than send me to College, to ask a mage, to find out?”

“Because the gods have gifted us with free will, and deeds done by our own free will are pleasing to the gods.” She spoke it like it was an axiom, an elemental truth.

To Daenerys it sounded more like the gods were bored and liked to make mortals jump through hoops for their amusement. She could see why the goddess would want a relic returned to her shrine, and Daenerys did owe the goddess for the vision she’d sent Aranea. “I’m heading to Winterhold anyway to join the College. I’ll ask around for this mage when I arrive.”

Aranea beamed. “Very good, a wise choice, and not the only guidance that I can offer. The title, Dragonborn, is a very important clue. It ties into another prophecy:

> When misrule takes its place at the eight corners of the world  
> When the Brass Tower walks and Time is reshaped  
> When the thrice-blessed fail and the Red Tower trembles  
> When the Dragonborn Ruler loses his throne, and the White Tower falls  
> When the Snow Tower lies sundered, kingless, bleeding  
> The World-Eater wakes, and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn.”

Daenerys frowned and sopped up the last bit of her stew with her bread. She popped it in her mouth and considered the prophecy. Then she shrugged. This was the usual fortune teller con, be so cryptic that anything could fulfill it. “That sounds important, but what does it all mean?”

.oOo.

After their discussion ended, Aranea had shown Daenerys to an initiate’s chamber and bade her goodnight. The bed was tiny, but quite comfortable. She lay exhausted under a pile of blankets, yet she couldn't sleep. The revelations about the Dragonborn kept playing through her mind.

Tiber Septim, the founder of the Third Empire had been Dragonborn and built an empire through bloody conquest. The Septim dynasty that he founded all claimed the right to rule based upon being dragon blooded. The whole story felt so familiar and right. The Targaryen dynasty wasn't quite the same, but it had still been born in conquest and was tied to the blood of dragons. It all fit together somehow, but where did she fit?

She certainly wasn’t going to charge off to Cyrodiil under some kind of deluded belief that she could claim the Imperial throne. If she could do it all over, she would have stayed in Mereen with people who loved and needed her. She had thrown away true loyalty to chase the Iron Throne, but it had been a mirage, leading her on, but always just out of reach. She had made it worse by slaughtering a city trying to somehow make the mirage turn real. She wasn’t fit to rule Tamriel. She didn’t know the land, the people, their politics, or their histories.

It had all been so clear to her once. Break the wheel. Build a better world. One that worked for all the people, not just the masters or the nobles. She could see it being born. Destroying King’s Landing had just been the birthing pains – necessary, unavoidable. She had been wrong. No world born in betrayal could ever be a better place.

Rule the Empire? She couldn’t even rule Skyrim if they offered to make her High Queen. At least she knew Skyrim’s problems: bandits everywhere, far too much wilderness left untamed, monsters lurking everywhere unckecked, and to top it all off dragon attacks. Those could all be solved with troops and weapons. Even the dragons could probably be countered with weapons like ballistae backed up by battlemages. However, none of those solutions could happen with the Stormcloak rebellion, and the Stormcloaks weren’t going away. Not until they could freely worship Talos again. That was an unsolvable problem. The Empire had been forced to ban Talos worship as part of the peace treaty – the White-Gold Concordat. The Empire didn’t want to enforce the ban, but they had been given no choice.

Daenerys gasped and sat upright as she suddenly grasped why the Empire was so strangely tolerant of this rebellion. The Empire didn’t want to enforce the treaty! They had been perfectly happy to ban Talos worship publicly, but let it continue in private. Even now that the Nords had forced the issue, the Empire would rather let the rebellion continue than have an open war in Skyrim, because the Nords weren’t their real enemy. The Aldmeri Dominion was the true enemy. Someone, the Emperor or one his advisors, was wise to avoid this trap. The Thalmor were stirring things up, getting the Empire to weaken itself. General Tellus was probably under orders to capture and kill Ulfric Stormcloak if he could, and otherwise avoid escalating the war at all costs. Jarl Balgruuf got it too. That explained his strange policy of neutrality. Suddenly, so much that had confused her made sense!

She lay back down under the covers, her thoughts too astir now to sleep. Her flash of insight didn’t answer her biggest questions. Aranea thought she wasn’t just Azura’s champion, but some mythical figure called the Last Dragonborn who would defeat Alduin and save the world. The idea was crazy, yet strangely alluring. Some power had clearly brought her to this world for a reason, but she knew that she would have no hope of killing even a small dragon, let alone a dragon-god like Alduin, the World-Eater. Even Aranea admitted that she was speculating wildly based on the mention of the Dragonborn. Yet, a part of her wanted it to be true, because maybe then she could find redemption.

She was being foolish. Nothing she ever did would ever make up for burning King’s Landing. Redemption? When confronted by a dragon this morning, she’d ran. Most of the people in the caravan were undoubtably dead by now. Aranea was reading portents that weren’t there. One of her visions had been talking to a dragon. That sounded like something she could do. Instead of fighting dragons, maybe she had been fighting _with_ dragons. If she could talk to dragons, which seemed possible since she understood the Words they spoke, then she could… what? Convince them to follow her as her children had? More foolishness.

No, what she did know was that magic was power here. Magic could be learned, and she had a talent for it. She would hone that gift at the College of Winterhold. Even if she still didn’t know who had brought her here or why, being able to defend herself and others was a good first step.

.oOo.

It was almost noon before Daenerys awoke. While she slept, Aranea had mended her damaged fur armor. The priestess hadn’t been able to get the bloodstains out, but they didn’t stink of blood and would keep out the cold. Aranea had also enchanted the armor for warmth and her backpack to lighten its weight. She waved off all thanks claiming them but ‘simple’ enchantments, and her small contribution to helping Azura’s champion. All she asked in return was that Daenerys spend the rest of the day in rest, recovery, and contemplation before starting on the two plus day journey to Winterhold.

“Also, I have one more gift for you.” Aranea said as she handed her a book. “The Book of the Dragonborn. It goes over many of the things we discussed last night. There are other books in the library that reference the legend, but this is the most comprehensive.”

Daenerys accepted the book. She wasn’t at all certain about being the Dragonborn or Azura’s champion, but Aranea had done too much to deny her request. She spent the rest of the day struggling to read the Book of the Dragonborn and talking with Aranea. Unsurprisingly, given that Aranea was a priestess, the conversations were often around the wonders of Azura. According to Aranea she was the patron goddess of the Dunmer, had arranged the downfall of a trio of false gods known as the Tribunal, and had also been responsible for the creation of the Khajiit. In the midst of that discussion she revealed that Azura was a Daedra.

“What? Wait, I thought Daedra were the evil gods and aedra were the good ones.”

“According to who?” scoffed Aranea. “The Altmer? They just divide the gods into the Aedra, the ancestors of the Altmer, and the Daedra, literally the not-Aedra. That division overlooks other deities like Sithis, Padomay, and Talos. To be more specific the Et’Ada are the original spirits who were tricked by Lorkhan into creating Mundus. Neither group is inherently good or evil. Many claim Mephala and Boethiah are evil, and yet they are patron gods of the Dunmer.”

Daenerys nodded understanding. “And everyone believes their gods are the only true gods and all others are evil fakes.”

“No, only fools believe that.” Aranea corrected. She exhaled in irritation. “But there are many fools in the world.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement to that truth. Although she did wonder, “So, the Empire permits the worshiping of Daedra?”

“They do in theory and under the law. In practice the worship of Daedra is frowned upon, but my people were given some dispensation. Morrowind joined the Empire by treaty, not conquest. We were specifically granted all rights of faith and self-government. Even here in Skyrim the Empire allowed the Reachmen to follow the Old Ways, which included Daedra worship. Don’t get me wrong, most here in Skyrim follow the Nine Divines.”

“And the Nine Divines include Talos. You acknowledge that he’s a deity?”

“Of course, he is a deity. His priests have performed miracles. I’m not a Thalmor. I don’t deny there are other gods out there. I have just dedicated myself to Azura, as should you. She has chosen you. Listen to her wisdom and she will guide your paths.”

“So you have said,” agreed Danerys without really agreeing. While Aranea was being helpful and had a completely different perspective from the Nords, her religious fixation was wearing. Daenerys was more than ready to leave for Winterhold in the morning, even if it meant risking the roads of Skyrim alone.


	10. Chapter 9

# Chapter 9

Morndas, the 20th of Frostfall, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys listened half-heartedly while Aranea greeted the sun by giving thanks to Azura. This ritual was supposedly for her benefit. The dominant theme was praising Azura, but Aranea was working in a lot of prayers for Azura to guide and protected her champion. Daenerys knew that should be grateful and appreciative. The gods of Nirn seemed to interfere more in the affairs of the world, and the goddess had helped her. She had even tried to offer thanks to the goddess when Aranea started praying. However, the liturgy was very repetitive and Danerys found her thoughts wandering.

Was she doing the right thing by leaving? The shrine was safe, and the roads of Skyrim were not. This was not a settled land. Predators, monsters, and bandits roamed freely. The weather itself could be deadly with winter approaching. Traveling by herself wasn’t wise, yet she felt it was necessary. While she didn’t believe she was this ‘Last Dragonborn’, Daenerys did feel like she was being pushed toward something. She didn’t know who or what had brought her to Skyrim and set her on this path, or where the path led, but she knew that she didn’t like being a puppet. She needed to get stronger and soon. The best way to do that would be to learn magic at the College of Winterhold. She had a feeling she that if she stayed at the Shrine of Azura for winter, she just wouldn’t be ready for what was to come. That staying was actually more dangerous than the journey to Winterhold.

Was this feeling of danger Azura speaking to her? She was the Goddess of Prophecy, this was her shrine, and Aranea was leading a prayer asking the goddess to guide her. It was certainly possible, but Daenerys had felt the tugging of destiny long before coming to Skyrim or to this shrine. She’d followed her dreams and intuition, and she hatched three dragons. She had also felt those same instincts guiding her to the Iron Throne, but she’d lost her path somewhere…

She looked up at the statue of Azura, but found neither comfort nor guidance, and certainly not forgiveness. If Aranea was right, whatever Azura saw would happen one way or another. Daenerys didn’t have faith in that. All she had were her wits and a premonition that told her to go to Winterhold. It wasn’t safe, but at least this time she would only be risking her own life.

Aranea bowed again deeply. “And while the sun chases away the twilight, still your presence guides us, for this we give thanks.” She rose and turned from the shrine to face Daenerys. “And now it’s time for you to depart. Azura has already revealed that you will study at the College of Winterhold, so I know you will arrive safely, but that doesn’t mean there will be no danger. Be alert and trust Azura and she will guide you through.”

“I will be careful. Fare you well, Aranea. Perhaps we will meet again someday.”

“We will, Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt and Dragonborn, when you return to this shrine bearing Azura’s Star. Go in peace.”

.oOo.

Despite all her fears about the dangers of traveling the roads of Skyrim alone, the journey to Winterhold turned out to be uneventful. The weather was mild for late autumn. The sky was clear, the air was calm, and the sun was hot enough to melt some of the thinner patches of snow. The path down the mountain was a wide and easy trail to follow, and the Imperial road was impossible to miss. She kept scanning the land for predators and the sky for dragons, but she saw nothing more dangerous than a small herd of elk all day long. A harvest moon was rising just as the sun had set so Daenerys decided to walk through the night. She judged it safer than trying to sleep in the wilds without companions to share the watch.

She was very tired when the moons finally set. She considered camping then and waiting for sunrise, but she didn’t see any good place to camp. As the sun began to peek over the horizon, she realized that what she had taken for a mountain up ahead was really a fortress – no doubt the College of Winterhold. She had apparently reached the outskirts of Winterhold without realizing it. As the sun rose, several small farms became visible from the road. Although not near as many as she would expect for a major city.

By the time the sun cleared the horizon, she was in Winterhold proper and realized that it was no city. It was barely larger than Riverwood. It lacked any kind of wall or defenses. For that matter, it didn’t even have a well-defined boundary. The scattered farmhouses merely grew closer together. When shops with signs advertising their stock in trade started appearing, Daenerys decided she must be in the city proper. Exhausted she stopped at an inn called the Frozen Hearth, rented a room, and collapsed into bed.

.oOo.

After a nap, a meal, and a bath, Daenerys felt almost ready to present herself to the College of Winterhold. She took the time to braid her hair and even bought new clothes. While she had a letter of introduction from Farengar, she didn’t want to show up looking like a beggar in mended and bloodstained furs.

She also learned from the innkeeper that Sagyval and a handful of others had survived the dragon attack and arrived safely in Winterhold. Apparently, she had just missed Sagyval. He had hired men and wagons to return to the site of the dragon attack and salvage what he could. The innkeeper was eager to talk her ear off about it. However, he also mentioned a ‘dragon witch’ with pale blond hair. When he frowned and gave her an odd look, she decided that it was time to leave.

The College of Winterhold was an intimidating fortress clearly visible from the streets of Winterhold. A vast chasm separated the city from the College. A narrow bridge spanned the gap. Daenerys made her way to a small tower that stood at the city-end of the bridge, where a tall woman stood guard. 

The woman was easily a full head taller than her. Her skin was golden as were her eyes. She had stern angular features with pointed ears – an Altmer. Her robes were a dull gray but embroidered with a fancy pattern in vivid red.

“Halt!” commanded the guardian of the bridge. She had a stern voice with a dangerous edge. “What business do you have with the College of Winterhold?”

Daenerys hadn’t expected such a hostile reception. “I am here to apply to the College.”

“Are you indeed?” The hostility in her voice eased up a little. “I am Faralda, one of the senior wizards here. I am here to assist those seeking entry to the college. And if, in the process, my presence helps to deter those who seek to do harm, so be it.”

That didn’t make much sense. “Why would anyone seek to harm the College?”

“It is no great secret that we have been unjustly blamed for a great many things over the years. The good people of Skyrim on occasion would rather pass judgment than understand what we do here. Thus, we must take certain precautions in order to secure our safety. This is not new, but the people of Winterhold have recently been stirred up by rumors of a ‘dragon witch’ calling down dragons to attack caravans just outside the city. Frightened people do foolish things.”

Daenerys frowned. Dragon Witch was not a title she wanted to claim as her own. “I am not here about dragons. I’m here to learn magic. That is why the College exists, is it not?”

Faralda nodded in agreement. “Yes, we are the only group left in Skyrim dedicated to the study of the arcane. There are others who study, to be sure, but they do so in private and often in secret. We provide a safe haven for mages in Skyrim. It would seem the College has what you seek, the question now is what can you offer the College? Not just anyone is allowed inside. Those wishing to enter must show some degree of skill with magic.”

“I have brought with me a letter of introduction from Farengar, the Court Wizard of Whiterun, and a mage in good standing with the College of Winterhold.”

“Have you indeed?” Her left eyebrow rose in surprise. “Interesting, quite unusual for one of your years. Let me see this letter.”

Daenerys had the letter ready in her sleeve. She pulled it free and handed it over as she puzzled over the comment about her age. Was she too old or too young?

“Hmm, Farengar speaks highly of you, Daenerys. He claims you have a gift for fire magic. Let’s see it then. A small test if you will.”

Daenerys raised her palm and aimed to the side and called forth Flames. Fire shot from her hand and licked harmlessly at the stone walls of the tower. She let the blast continue for a little while and then cut it off. “Is that satisfactory?”

“Indeed. Well done, I’m sure you’ll be an asset to the college. Please follow me, once inside you’ll want to speak to Mirabelle Ervine. She is the Master Wizard here. Archmage Aren may be in charge, but Mirabelle runs this place. You’d do well to remember that.”

Faralda led her across the bridge to the College. Along the way, Faralda paused to cast a spell which caused pools of water to light up like beacons sending up blue towers of light up into the sky. The bridge was wide enough for three men to stand abreast and felt sturdy under her feet. The crossing felt safe until they reached the top of the span where the walls that guarded the edges were shattered and missing. The gusts of wind felt stronger and the fall below would be deadly. Faralda didn’t even break stride. Daenerys followed after, keeping her gaze fixed forward and taking one step at a time. Heights had never bothered her atop a dragon, but that bridge left her heart racing. Why didn’t they repair the railings? There was still snow and ice on the bridge. She wondered how many people had slipped and fallen to their deaths.

Faralda glanced back and nodded approvingly. “I’ll have to leave you with Mirabelle when we find her. We don’t always guard the approach, but with the folk of Winterhold stirred up against this dragon witch, I’m keeping watch. Since you have a gift for fire, we will no doubt have lessons soon. I’m the Mistress of Destruction at the College.”

“I look forward to it,” replied Daenerys. Her thoughts drifted back to Aranea’s visions. The priestess had foreseen her foreseen her studying magic under a ‘stern Altmer mage’. Faralda certainly fit the description.

.oOo.

While the College of Winterhold looked like a fortress from the outside, it was built like a mansion on the inside. The main entrance opened onto the Hall of the Elements, a huge room three stories tall that would put most ballrooms to shame. At one end a dozen or so young mages of various races were listening to a white-haired Dunmer lecture. The hallways were large enough that someone could drive a chariot down them. There were two stories devoted to classrooms and laboratories in the main building. The entire third floor was a library. The fourth floor was mostly the personal quarters of Archmage of the College, but it also held the administration offices which was where Faralda left her with Mirabelle Ervine. 

The second most important wizard of the college didn’t look like a powerful wizard. She looked more like a merchant sitting behind a large desk cluttered with ledgers and papers. She was a middle-aged Breton with tanned skin and an unflattering short bob of brown hair. Her robes were of dark gray and not at all imposing. The spectacles perched on her nose as she read the letter of introduction were interesting. Daenerys had heard of the device for aiding failing sight but this was the first time she actually saw them in use.

Mirabelle set down the letter and looked Daenerys up and down. She didn’t look entirely pleased. “Hmm, so you caught Farengar’s eye, did you? He was always a fine scholar, but a little weak in the practical applications. Are you prepared to study hard and work hard?”

“Of course.” What kind of question was that? “I have a gift. I want to hone it.”

“Having a gift isn’t enough. Many coming here seeking magic because they want a short cut. They want fame, or riches, or power, and they want it immediately. Magic requires more than talent. Magic is a difficult art that requires a keen mind, study, and determination.” She studied Daenerys with a challenging gaze as if finding her wanting.

Daenerys met the gaze and did not back down. “I have walked through fire and blood. I can take whatever you throw at me.”

“Ha!” Mirabelle smiled broadly. “We’ll see about that, but at least you have passion. Now, let’s get down to details. How many spells do you know and what are they?”

“I know two spells. Flames and a spell for pushing things. I don’t know the proper name for it.”

“Destruction, then and a variation on telekinesis. That would be Alteration. So, how much do you know about magical theory? What books have you read?”

“I don’t know anything about magical theory. I’m self-taught. I haven’t read any books about magic at all…” She hesitated about revealing her difficulties with the written language, but it would come out almost immediately. Better to be upfront about it. “In fact, I’m still learning Tamrielic. I can carry on a conversation with no problems, but I still struggle with reading.”

“Still learning Tamrielic? What gods-forsaken backwater corner of the Empire did you come from?”

“I prefer not to talk about it,” replied Daenerys.

“Fine, I won’t pry, but it’s a disadvantage and one you will have to work to overcome. You will be doing a lot of reading.” She turned and reached to a shelf behind her and took out a piece of parchment. “Let’s get the preliminaries out of the way, shall we? Full name or cognomen?”

“Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt.” She hadn’t claimed her family name before, but now that Aranea knew about it there didn’t seem to be a point in hiding it any longer.

Mirabelle jotted that down swiftly. “And how old are you?”

Daenerys frowned as she realized she wasn’t sure. “That depends. I’ve lost track of the day. What day is it?”

“Tirdas, the 21st of Frostfell.”

“Then, I will be twenty-one in two days.” At least that was her best guess. She wasn’t sure the days and years were the same, but they both had twelve months and a year that was a bit longer than that. She’d worked out that her name day was probably the 21st of Frostfell.

“Hmm, I would have guessed older. You have a presence to you few do at your years. Now, who is your next of kin?”

She shrugged. “None that I wish to claim.”

“In that case is there anyone you would like to receive your personal effects if you suffer a fatal mishap?”

“Does that happen often?” Was this woman trying to scare her off?

“Three in twenty of our students die in training. Two in twenty manage to kill themselves. One in twenty gets killed by a fellow student or in some kind of magical accident.” She shrugged. “Magic is not for the timid. If the numbers scare you off, then you’re better off leaving now.”

“I’ve been called many things, but timid is not one of them. If something happens to me, send my personal effects to Gerdur in Riverwood.”

“Sorry, we won’t send them to her. If something happens to you, we’ll put them in a box and send her a letter. If she comes to claim them within a year, she can have them.” Mirabelle jotted down the information.

Daenerys was now almost certain that this woman was trying to scare her off. “Fine. Any more paperwork?”

“Almost done. You understand that you are starting as a novitiate. That you’ll follow orders from any Master Wizard on our staff. You’ll also obey our rules. The most important of which is that you don’t practice any spell unless you’re being supervised by someone higher ranked than an apprentice. That means an adept, an expert, or a master. Do you understand?”

“I understand the rules,” grumbled Daenerys. Not she was at all happy to be treated like a child. The warning about three in twenty dying meant that Mirabelle had some reasons.

Mirabelle shook her head. “But you don’t agree, do you? You think you know better? You were able to learn on your own? You were _lucky_. Half to two-thirds of all hedge mages kill themselves or innocents. We’ll teach you, and this is the first lesson. Treat magic with respect, obey our rules, or I will throw you out so fast you’ll leave your shadow behind.”

“I understand.” Daenerys sat with her back straight and met the woman’s gaze. “I want to learn. I will treat magic with respect and obey the rules of the College.” She even meant it, but she wasn’t going to grovel, which seemed to be what the woman wanted.

Mirabelle sighed. “Well, you have a backbone at least, and nobly born by your airs. Which means you probably aren’t going to like this next part. We don’t charge you tuition, but you will have to work to earn your keep. We don’t have servants here, so you may be tasked with cooking, cleaning, assisting in laboratory work, or other experiments. That applies to every one of our students. If you don’t like it, go hire yourself a private tutor.”

Daenerys smiled. Before she came to Westeros she might have bristled at being put to work like that, but after being a tavern wench a little bit of drudgery didn’t scare her. “A little honest work never hurt anyone.”

This time Mirabelle smiled. “Good. Now, since you’re an adult, we consider you a senior novitiate. That means you’re free to leave the College when you don’t have work or studying to do. However, it also means that we expect you to help with our other novitiates, those who are still children. You won’t give them lessons in magic, but guidance and supervision.”

That gave her pause. “I don’t have any experience in supervising children.”

“Is that a problem?”

“No, I can handle children.” She had raised dragons, ruled a city, and convinced bloodthirsty Dothraki khals to bend to her will. How hard could children be?

“Good. Sign here please.”

.oOo.

Once the paperwork was done, Mirabelle gave her a tour of the main building. What struck Daenerys most of all was how empty the College was. It had obviously been built to house hundreds, but it was mostly empty. Entire wings were closed off and unused. The tour ended up back in the Hall of the Elements. The same group from before were still present, and they all seemed to be engaged in practicing different spells both individually and in small groups.

Mirabelle gestured to the group. “You remember my warning not to practice new spells alone? A Master Wizard is usually on duty in the afternoons so you can practice under supervision. Once you have the basics down, you can practice further on your own. That’s our Master of Illusions, Drevis Neloren, keeping watch. Most of the students over there are novitiates, who you will be helping supervise, but you can meet them later. Now, demonstrate your spells.”

Daenerys nodded and performed first her Flames spell and then her ‘Shove’ spell.

“Hmm, interesting. I haven’t seen a spell like that before, but it does appear to be a specialized form of Telekinesis which would be Alteration.”

“If you say so. I thought Alteration was the magic of changing things. My ‘shove’ spell is just raw force. No underlying…” She struggled for the word in Tamrelic. “… stuff.”

Mirabelle laughed. “I think you mean substance or matter. If it is a manipulation of forces, then it also falls under Destruction. I will schedule your initial assessment with Faralda tomorrow. After I have her report, we’ll work out a training schedule for you. Now, I'll show you to your quarters. You're going to be sharing space with Brelyna Maryon, who you'll meet shortly. The two of you have a lot in common. I predict you’ll either be lifelong friends or bitter enemies.”

Mirabelle led her back out through the courtyard and to the Hall of Attainment. She gestured to doorways they passed. “These are where our younger novitiates are quartered. Your quarters are over here.” She stopped in front of a door and knocked.

Daenerys waited while Mirabelle knocked on the door. The master wizard’s comments had her curious, but she preferred to form her own opinions.

Mirabelle rapped on the door again, more sharply this time.

“This had better be important!” growled an angry young woman on the other side of the door. The door flew open revealing a young Dunmer wrapped in a damp robe and wet hair. Her anger died when she saw who was at the door. “My apologies, Master Wizard. I was bathing,” she concluded contritely.

“If it’s too much of an inconvenience, I can introduce you to your new roommate later, Brelyna.”

“Roommate?” Her eyes flicked to Daenerys and she smiled. “Another senior novitiate! And you’re a Nord. Gods be praised!”


	11. Chapter 10

# Chapter 10

Tirdas, the 21st of Frostfell, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Mirabelle seemed amused as if this was all some kind of joke to her. “Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni, allow me to formally introduce your new roommate, Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt.”

While Daenerys was still a little taken aback by the exuberant greeting from Brelyna, old lessons on etiquette had her responding automatically. “A pleasure to meet you, Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni.” She gave a slight nod of respect. “And while you are correct that I am the new senior novitiate, I’m not actually a Nord.”

“Really?” asked Brelyna. “With round ears and hair that pale? What are you then?”

“I prefer not to talk about it,” responded Daenerys tartly. If they were going to be living in close quarters, better to head the questioning off.

“I meant no offense. I know what it is like to have a past that you would rather leave behind.”

Mirabelle laughed. “What did I tell you? Two peas in a pod. Brelyna, I’ll leave you to fill in the responsibilities of a senior novitiate.” She then walked away.

Daenerys studied her new roommate. Gerdur had described the Dunmer race as serious, distrustful, sarcastic, and deceitful, yet very loyal. Irileth, Jarl Balgruff’s housecarl, had certainly seemed to fit Gerdur’s description. Aranea had been both serious and loyal, and also blunt. She had also been kind and even laughed. Brelyna seemed cut from a different cloth. Openly rude, then contrite. She also seemed quite young, but she must be an adult to be deemed a senior novitiate.

Brelyna stepped back out of the doorway. “Well, come on in. Is that backpack all you have in the way of possessions?”

“Yes,” agreed Daenerys, as she stepped into the room.

Two small beds lay on opposite walls, both laden down with furs. Several large wardrobes stood along the walls. There were two desks and several chests in the room. A folding privacy screen hid part of the room, and wet footprints indicated that the room must have a bath of some sort, a luxury beyond most citizens of Skyrim. One side obviously belonged to Brelyna as it had books and papers piled atop the desk and shelves. The other side was mostly empty, except for a collection of skulls.

“Make yourself at home,” announced Brelyna. “I think my bath is ruined, but I’d still like to dry off better. I’ll be right back.” She stepped behind the privacy screen.

Daenerys set her backpack down upon what must be her bed, opened it, and started putting her few possessions into one of the chests. “So, why all the excitement about another senior novitiate? And why would my being a Nord, which I’m not, be a cause to rejoice?”

Behind the screen came the sound of water draining. Brelyna stepped back out dressed in a robe. She sat down on her bed and took a brush to her hair. “It’s the novitiates,” she explained. “Most days I want to strangle the lot of them. Believe me, you’ll understand in a few days. I have been looking after nine of the little beasts by myself. Onmund and J’zargo only handle eight boys between the two of them. Which makes some sense. You can’t have a man barging into young girls’ bedrooms, but I’ve been looking after all nine girls by myself. The three Dunmer girls are no problems for me. They understand that I look to them to set an example. Esti, or Estiandil as she prefers now, is our one Bosmer novitiate. She’s not so bad, even if she does spend half her time mooning over Ancano. And Seen-La, our one Argonian, is the youngest and just as sweet as she can be. It’s the four human girls who make me want to pull my hair out. They are always smiles and politeness to my face, but the second my back is turned, they’re practicing magic when they shouldn’t, ditching their duties, and flirting with the boys when they should be studying. I’m also certain the three Nord girls are bullying Taillour, she’s our one Breton. However, I can’t ever catch the prissy little bitches at it, and Taillour won’t talk about it.” Brelyna broke off her rant for a deep breath. She set down her brush and then began to braid her hair, her fingers working with the deftness that came with long practice. “But you’re at least human, and you look like a Nord, so maybe they’ll listen to you.”

Daenerys sat down on her bed. “I came here to learn magic, not tend children. If I wanted to raise children, I could find a husband and raise my own!”

Brelyna laughed. “I’ve said much the same thing. Welcome to the College of Winterhold. It’s a job no one else wants to do either. Certainly not the faculty. Good news, you still spend a lot of your time learning magic. Better news, most senior novitiates only serve six months before they make apprentice. I’ve been stuck at it longer than most. Aldsi helped me at first, but she left the college to get married. She’s a horker hunter’s wife now, if you can believe that.”

While the thought of a mage running off to be the wife of a horker hunter did sound absurd, so did this entire situation. “Why doesn’t the college just hire a matron? I’m sure there are some old widows who have raised children of their own. They would likely be thrilled just to have a warm bed, cooked meals, and someone to talk to.” Such a person wouldn’t even cost much at all.

“Well, when you become Archmage, you can change that,” said Brelyna. “Until then, both of us are stuck as a part-time governess and part-time student.”

While it wasn’t what Daenerys expected, it was common practice in all professions that apprentices had to do the tedious, dirty, and tiring jobs. She would still be learning magic which made it much better than being a tavern wench. “So, Mirabelle said that we’re supposed to give them guidance and supervision rather than magical instruction, what exactly do we do?”

“Master Wizard Mirabelle,” corrected Brelyna. “We’re novitiates, address the faculty with respect. As to what we do… They’re at that awkward age between child and adult. Sometimes they’re responsible. Other times, they think with their hormones. We keep an eye on them. We listen when they need someone to talk with. We assign chores or write them up when they’re idiots. We do room checks every night to make sure they’re in their own beds and not sneaking into someone else’s. The kind of thing our mothers did for us when we were that age.” Brelyna scowled suddenly. “Or the way our mothers should have done for us when we were that age.”

Daenerys frowned. She had no clue what Brelyna was talking about. Her mother had died giving birth to her. She had dim memories of a house with a red door and servants who cared for her, but she remembered begging on the streets of Pentos more clearly. “How old are they?”

“Seen-La, is ten and the youngest. Sofija is the oldest and she’s sixteen. She’s a Nord and she’ll be one of yours. Most novitiates make apprentice before they’re fifteen. After that, they’re no longer our concern. Their rooms are one floor up and they’re judged mature enough to be responsible for their own affairs. When they cause trouble, they answer to their mentors, not us.”

Daenerys found this extended childhood to be a bit strange. She had wed Khal Drogo at thirteen. By fourteen she’d been a widow, birthed dragons, and led a khalasar. Still, she’d adapted to stranger customs. While the duties expected of her were still unclear, Daenerys decided it didn’t matter that much. “Alright, I’ll manage. So, seventeen novitiates, four senior novitiates, and how many others? It looks like this school was built to house hundreds.”

“It was,” agreed Brelyna. “I’ve never tried to count, but there are about two score apprentices. There used to be more, but after the Oblivion Crisis and the Great Collapse, Nords have become even more distrustful of magic. When Nord children manifest talent, they’re more likely to get told to suppress it, or worse have it beaten out them. That never ends well. Some become hedge mages, others join a temple. It says a lot that Nords are the minority here, despite being the overwhelming majority of Skyrim.”

Nords were a lot like the Westerosi in that regard. Magic was rare in Essos but accepted. In Westeros they tried to pretend it didn’t exist. It took something too big to ignore like dragons or the Night King leading an army of the dead for them to believe in magic.

“So, do I get to ask questions as well?” demanded Brelyna.

“I prefer not to talk about my past, other than that, ask whatever you like.”

“I can certainly understand that,” said Brelyna. “Let’s talk about your present and your future instead. What magic do you know and what are you here to learn?”

“I can cast Flames and a spell that pushes things. Master Wizard Mirabelle called it a variation of telekinesis…” She paused for a moment. She was hiding so much, perhaps she should reveal something? Extend a little trust to open the door to perhaps being friends and not just roommates? “Don’t spread this around, but I can also Shout.”

“Shouting,” repeated Brelyna sounded impressed. “Yet, you insist that you are not a Nord. Why attend the College instead of going to High Hrothgar and studying with the Greybeards?”

Daenerys smiled as Brelyna was drawn in by sharing her confidence. “Because they’re a bunch of old monks who spend their entire lives in religious contemplation. Would you go to High Hrothgar if you could Shout?”

“Well, no,” admitted Brelyna. “But, I’m a Dunmer, and Nords only barely tolerate us at the best of times. They’d probably Shout me off the mountain.”

Daenerys thought that an exaggeration, but she doubted the Greybeards would welcome a Dunmer into their number with open arms. She decided to shift the subject. “And what kind of magic are you here to-”

Her question got cut off by a loud knocking on the door.

Brelyna rose. “I’ll see who it is. Likely our charges or the boys come to meet you.” She opened the door. “Ah, I should have guessed. The entertainment has arrived. Come on in. Daenerys, these are our fellow senior initiates, Onmund and J’zargo.”

Onmund was a lanky dark-haired young lad with striking blue eyes. While he had the height of a Nord, he obviously shaved as he only had a little bit of dark scruff on his face. It was a good look for him. He broke into a friendly smile. “Ah, good to see a fellow Nord. Few of us choose to follow the path of magic.”

J’zargo was unmistakably a Khajiit. He had his hood up which hid his ears, but his face was covered in fur striped white, brown and black. His whiskers stuck out past his hood. Despite his feline appearance, his smirk was obvious. “J’zargo is pleased to meet such a beautiful addition to the College. Ignore the blatherings of my friend. It is obvious that someone as delicate and lovely as yourself is not a Nord. He cannot help that he is not as perceptive as J’zargo. He was not born Khajiit.”

Brelyna laughed openly at the remark and grinned at Daenerys. “They can be idiots, but they are amusing ones.”

Daenerys found herself smiling and holding back a laugh of her own. The lack of outrage from Onmund and J’zargo spoke of respect, maybe even friendship among the three of them. It felt like she was being included in that. She felt some tension within her relax. She had yet to learn any magic, but she felt welcome here.

.oOo.

Daenerys first met her new charges after dinner. Brelyna introduced her to Sofija, Enja, Matilda, and Taillour. In contrast to Brelyna’s depiction of them, all four of them were polite and respectful at least to her. After the introductions they basically ignored that Brelyna was present while Daenerys questioned them about their backgrounds. When Brelyna left after a few minutes, they all relaxed. Apparently, Brelyna’s troubles with them were rooted in racial prejudice. That really wasn’t surprising with Nords. It was also stupid considering that Nords were a minority at the College of Winterhold. They wouldn’t go far with that attitude. Was that something she was supposed to guide them about? If so, she didn’t see how. Most people would cling to their customs and prejudices unless forced to change. On the bright side of things, they probably wouldn’t cause as much trouble for her as they had for Brelyna.

The next morning Daenerys arrived early for her initial assessment with Faralda. She was quite looking forward to working with the Mistress of Destruction. The classroom was easy to find as it had the flaming hand symbol on the door that was the symbol for the School of Destruction. She tried the door and found it unlocked. Daenerys had been expecting a room with a lot of tables and chairs, what she found looked more like an archery range designed by a mason. Solid walls divided the room into long lanes with targets at the far end.

Faralda was already present sitting behind a granite desk strewn with several books. She nodded. “Good, you’re early. Keep that eagerness to learn. Now, have a seat.” She gestured to a stone stool beside the desk. “I’m sure you’re eager to demonstrate, but I am going to ask you a bunch of questions first. We’ll get to the practical part soon enough.” She pulled out a quill and scroll. “We will start with the basics. What are the three key elements that must be present in every spell?”

Daenerys felt a sinking feeling in her stomach. She had no idea how to answer the question. She had never heard mention of any key elements. Desperately she fumbled for an answer. “Will, magicka, and understanding?”

Faralda frowned deeply. “You are obviously self-taught. What books have you read on magic?”

“None,” admitted Daenerys. She hadn’t been able to afford them working as a tavern wench at the Sleeping Giant Inn. The cheapest book on sell at the Riverwood Trader would have required her to save for weeks. After Bleak Falls Barrow she could have afforded a book, but it had seemed a waste when the College of Winterhold was renowned for its library. Not to mention that she still had trouble reading and stumbled over words at times. There was a huge difference between being able to carry on a conversation and being fully fluent in a language.

“I see.” Faralda sighed deeply. “A true hedge mage then. Very well, explain what you meant by will, magicka, and understanding.”

She felt like she had already been judged and found wanting. “A spell requires will, a focus upon what I want to have happen. I also have to gather the…” She fumbled trying to find a word in Tamrelic that wasn’t magicka. “… the energy within me or it will just fizzle. Lastly, I have to focus through the… magic of what things are… their fundamental nature. I’m sorry, I lack the proper words in Tamrelic.”

“I can see you are frustrated. That’s not unusual for hedge mages when they try to explain how they do magic.” While the words were sympathetic, Faralda had a commanding voice that just didn’t do sympathy well. “If Tamrelic is not your native tongue, what is? I’m fluent in Aldmeris and can get by in a few others.”

“I prefer not to talk about my past.”

“I don’t really give a damn about your past.” Faralda paused and then continued more calmly. “What I care about is your understanding of magic. My job is to assess that. Now, what language do you speak?”

Daenerys hesitated, but she had come too far to turn away from the college. “Valyrian is my mother tongue.”

“That’s… interesting. I’ve never even heard of that language. I’ll admit that I’m curious, but College tradition allows for novitiates leaving their past behind if they wish. If you ever change your mind and want to talk about where you are from, I would like to know.”

Daenerys nodded. “I will keep that in mind, but it is not a pleasant story, nor one that I wish to revisit.”

“Very well. We seem to have gotten off track. Let’s get back to the three key elements of a spell. You successfully named one of them, Focus, sometimes called image or imagination. This is the element that determines how the magic manifests. Without Focus you can set yourself on fire instead of your target.”

Daenerys nodded. This part was clear to her. When she called forth magic she had to hold firmly to what she wanted.

“The second element is Will, also called willpower or determination. You must exert your desire upon the world. Will is not magicka, which is poorly understood by most laypeople. Will is applying your strength to focus the magicka in the world around you…” Faralda frowned. “You look doubtful.”

“I don’t mean to doubt you, but when I cast a spell, I reach inside myself and pull upon my magic.”

“No, no, no. That’s one of the most common mistakes. Magicka is not something that pools inside us. Magicka is all around us in Mundus, like the air we breathe. The strain you feel when casting a spell is very much like pulling, but you’re not pulling from within you. Let’s step through this. Go ahead, reach inside yourself and pull – where does it feel you are pulling from?”

Daenerys did as bid. She reached inside as if she was going to cast and pulled magic to her, pulling it in, compressing it… “Oh, I am pulling it in from all around, not just inside me, and then compressing it into a tight bundle so I can push it out.”

“Precisely! You exert your Will to divert magicka to accomplish your Focus. And exerting your Will tires you out, just as pushing and lifting heavy rocks will tire you out. Also, your Will grows if you exercise it enough, just as continued hard work builds your muscles.”

“Thank you. I never really noticed it was coming from all around me.”

Faralda waved a hand. “Think nothing of it. It’s a very common mistake. Now, I want to explore the final element of magic. You mentioned focusing on ‘the magic of what things are’. Explain that better.”

Daenerys smiled. This part she could answer. “Well, when I cast Flames, I focus on the essence of fire, what fire truly is.”

“And what is fire truly? What does fire want?”

“Want?” Daenerys blinked. “Fire doesn’t want anything. Fire is fire. It’s in the heat of a campfire, the warmth of our bodies.”

“Yes, yes, but is it hungry, reaching out? Or anger? How do you bridge the gap between Will and Focus to ignite that flame?”

“I’m sorry, but I don’t understand what you’re asking me.”

Faralda seemed frustrated as well. “The three elements of a spell are Focus, Will, and an altered mental state, sometimes called the Seeming. Our minds know how the world works. To cast magic we have to convince our mind that the world works differently. I need to know what you are using to cast Flames. Is it so much anger that fire breaks loose? Is it pyromania, love of watching things burn?”

“I just command that fire come forth…” Oh, wait she was being stupid! “Yol. That’s my bridge.” She was very careful to merely speak the word and not Shout it, but even then she felt a flicker of warmth on her tongue.

“Yol?” Faralda looked thoroughly perplexed. “Is that Valyrian?”

“No, it’s the dragon tongue, I suppose. It’s the Shout that means fire.” And so much for keeping her ability to Shout secret. Not that she’d expected to keep it secret for long.

“Shout?” Repeated Faralda. “You can Shout?”

“Yes. I only know the two Words, but one is Yol.”

“And when you cast Flames, you focus on the word Yol?” she asked.

“Not exactly. If I focused on the word itself, then I would Shout it. I focus on the meaning of the word, on what fire truly means.”

“What fire truly means,” Faralda repeated speaking as if at a great distance. “Oh dear gods, that changes everything.”


	12. Chapter 11

# Chapter 11

Middas, the 22nd of Frostfall, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys studied Faralda curiously. She seemed to be just staring off into space. “Sorry, Master Wizard, but what changes everything?”

“You don’t even know what you’ve done. That’s…” Faralda shook her head and then laughed. “Let me explain. Do you remember what I was saying about the Seeming?”

Daenerys felt a bit insulted. They had only been talking about it a moment ago. “It’s an altered mental state you said, one of the three key elements of casting a spell.”

“Quite right,” agreed Faralda. “Let’s use the School of Destruction as an example. There is more than one mental state suitable for casting a destructive spell. Anger is the easiest and most common. You want to hurt someone so much that magic lashes out and does for you. Flames is the single most common spell manifested during spontaneous magic use. Pyromania is another possibility; you focus on a love of fire, the way it burns, cleanses, and destroys. You want something to feel that embrace. Until today I thought that an altered mental state was _necessary_ to bridge the gap from Will to Focus. Are you following this?”

Daenerys nodded. “But I’m not using the usual Seeming. I bridge the gap with understanding of what fire truly is.”

“Yes!” Faralda beamed. “I’m not sure that even qualifies as a Seeming. And that’s very important. Not to successfully cast spells, but because of the consequences upon the mage. We force our minds into an altered state every time we cast a spell. The problem is that bending your thoughts repeatedly has consequences. Most mages that have mastered Destruction are at least short-tempered from cultivating their anger.”

Daenerys felt the temptation to make a pointed comment about Faralda’s temperament, but she wasn’t a fool. She kept her response mild. “I can see that could be a problem.”

“Do you? It’s more than just being short-tempered. When you hold anger too long, it can fester and become hate. Especially during war. Battlemages are particularly prone to this trap. When you see your friends and allies die, it’s so easy to hate the enemy, but hate is much harder to let go than anger. Battlemages who fall into hate can frenzy as much as any Nord berserker, blasting at their foes, even their friends and not stopping. Pyromania can be just as dangerous, a love of destroying things with fire can twist the mind into sadism, taking joy in causing others pain.”

“So, in short practicing Destruction isn’t good for your sanity. I take it the other schools of magic have similar problems?”

“Of course, they do. For Illusion you must first trick yourself before you trick others. For Alteration you have to embrace infinite possibility, that anything might be true. Cultivating either one too much leaves one distant from the real world. With Alteration that’s usually a tendency to get lost in daydreams. Illusionists get detached. They start seeing the world and all the people in it as playthings. Any school of magic has consequences if you’re not careful. Madness is a very real risk for all mages. That’s why a good deal of your lessons will also be on mediation, on centering yourself, on letting go, and finding balance in your life. It is far too easy to obsess about magic. As much as I hate to say it, the Nords aren’t entirely wrong in distrusting mages. Too many of us get out of hand.”

Daenerys was shocked to hear an Altmer Mistress of Destruction admit that. “And if mages didn’t have to use Seemings, but could base their magic on Words as I do, then they would no longer have to push their minds to the brink of insanity, and far fewer of them would ‘get out of hand’?”

“Yes, good. You have a quick wit about you. It’s… the most important magical discovery in my lifetime. This could change the way we study magic. We already know Shouting can be taught. The Greybeards do it, although it supposedly takes years. However, a year of learning a Shout could very well be worth it in the long run. Tell me, how did you learn to Shout?”

Daenerys was about to answer, and then she paused and considered. She had something a Master Wizard wanted... “What’s in it for me?”

“Did you not understand? This could revolutionize the way we cast spells. Our names will go down in magical history.”

“And that is good, but you’re wanting me to help you learn to Shout, are you not?”

“Well, yes. That’s the only way to test the theory out.”

“So, if I’m going to be teaching you, I want extra lessons from you. I’d also like to be promoted to apprentice.”

“Extra lessons are only fair,” agreed Faralda easily. “However, you’re too new to make apprentice already. Although once we inform the rest of the faculty of this discovery…” Faralda suddenly frowned and then her eyes got wide. Her face twisted into an ugly scowl. She abruptly stood up and stomped around her desk. She stopped when she reached a line painted on the floor before one of the long stone alleyways that ended with targets. This particular target was a stone statue vaguely resembling a man. Faralda gestured with a hand and threw a ball of fire at the statue and hit it in the head. “Damn Ancano!” She threw another and hit it in the chest. “Damn the Thalmor!” She threw a third and hit it in the crotch. “Damn them to Oblivion!”

Daenerys was glad not to be on the receiving end of that burst of temper. Obviously, Faralda hadn’t been joking about Masters of Destruction being short-tempered.

Faralda took a deep breath and let it out. “Consider that a lesson. Sometimes, the best way to handle anger is to vent it where it does no harm.” While she was certainly calmer than she had been when screaming profanity and throwing fire, her voice still shook with fury.

Daenerys winced as that struck too close to home. It hadn’t been only anger that had pushed her to destroy King’s Landing. Hurt, betrayal, grief, and isolation had combined with rage. However, this was not the time for her to dwell again on her mistakes. “So, I take it you don’t like the Thalmor?”

“What? Am I supposed to support them just because I’m an Altmer?” Her words still cracked with her anger. “People forget that the Thalmor conquered the Summerset Isles first. They purged and drove out any Altmer that disagreed with them. They killed two of my grandparents. My parents fled all the way to Skyrim to get as far from them as possible.”

“My apologies. I wasn’t mocking your pain. I was just surprised by your… outburst.”

Faralda took a calming breath. “No, the apologies should be mine, but I believe I demonstrated the problem of using anger as a focus.” She paused for a moment studying Daenerys. “You’re taking all of this quite calmly. Most apprentices duck for cover when a Master Wizard is angry. You’re acting more like I spilled my wine.”

Daenerys shrugged. “I’ve seen worse.” She’d done worse. “Besides, you used fire. I’m called the Unburnt for a reason. No fire can harm me. I’m more curious about what kindled your rage. You have reason to hate the Thalmor, but that was sudden. What brought that on?”

Faralda stepped back behind her desk and sat down. “This is the magical discovery of the century, maybe of the entire fourth era. We should involve the entire faculty. However, if we did Ancano would certainly find out, and we can’t risk that. Think about it. Shouting takes years to master. If tapping into the knowledge of a Shout is a better way to cast spells, then it gives mer an advantage over men, because we live longer.”

Daenerys smiled. “I think you may be placing the cart before the horse. As far as I’m aware Shouting is a rare gift, mostly found in Nords. Are you sure anyone can learn to Shout?”

The Mistress of Destruction nodded. “A very good point. I still want to keep any research into this a secret until we learn more.”

“I won’t object to that.” Daenerys already felt like she was getting a good deal out of this. Cloaking them together in secrecy would only bind them more tightly. “Well, I can certainly agree to keep it secret. However, I’ll be honest about not being sure if I can teach you to Shout. You see, I learned my first Word when a dragon Shouted the Word at me. I could try Shouting at you, but you’re going to get burned.”

“I’ve been burned before, many times. I’ve even burned myself deliberately. I’ll admit it is not pleasant, but to truly master destruction requires an understanding about how it feels to burn, to freeze, and to be shocked.” She reached over and grabbed another scroll and picked up her quill. “You said your first Word. What are all the Words you know, and how did you learn them?”

.oOo.

Daenerys shared with Faralda how she had learned **Yol** from the dragon of Helgen and learned **Fus** from the chanting wall in Bleak Falls Barrow. She described as well as she could how she had used her knowledge of her two Shouts to create spells upon the principles. She even discussed the ice dragon that had attacked and the words it had shouted: Fo – Krah – Diin.

Faralda laughed. “You actually are the dragon witch then?”

“That’s greatly exaggerated. I told the caravan to run. I told them to hide, that they couldn’t beat the dragon. I had no power over it. I certainly did not summon it.”

“I understand. Wild rumors about magic blown out of proportion are hardly new in Winterhold. I still find it amusing that I let you in. I was guarding the bridge because of the dragon witch rumors and never realized you were the cause. Anything else?”

Daenerys thought about what Aranea said about her being the Last Dragonborn. Even the priestess only called it a theory. If she mentioned it to Faralda, she would have to give a source, and that source was the High Priestess of Azura. Faralda was shaping up to be an ally. She didn’t want to risk that by sounding like a crazed daedric cultist. “That’s all I can think of for now.”

Faralda nodded. “It’s a good start. While we may get around to you Shouting at me, I’d like to start on research first. I am certain that I’ve heard of what you called a ‘chanting wall’ before. I believe they are called word walls. We need to learn more about those. It’s too bad you didn’t write down whatever was written on the wall. It could have been important. Obviously, we also need to research everything in the library on Shouting, dragons, dragon priests and the Greybeards.”

Daenerys felt stupid when Faralda mentioned not copying down the chanting/word/whatever wall. In hindsight that was a major clue that she had simply overlooked. “What about the Dragonborn? Isn’t he known for Shouting?”

“The Dragonborn? You mean Tiber Septim? He is known for Shouting, but he is better known for many other things, and the mythology of his life has grown larger than the history. That’s likely to be a very large stack of books with few if any useful leads.”

“I was thinking more about the Nord legend.”

“Oh, I suppose that might have some connection, but it’s mostly mixed up with Tiber Septim and Talos.” She shrugged. “I’ll keep it in mind, but it doesn’t feel like a good place to start.

So much for getting Faralda to research the Dragonborn for her. “How long will the research take? And do you want me to help you?”

“No, you would just slow me down,” replied Faralda. “Now that you pointed out to me that you’re not a native speaker, I noticed how you hesitate over words at times. Your Tamrielic still needs work. This will involve a lot of reading. Having you try to help me in the library would also attract undue attention. It will take two or three days just to comb the library for the correct books. Probably a few weeks to read through them, take notes and collate what I found.”

Daenerys frowned but nodded. She could hardly complain. She had planned to research all this on her own, now she had her own expert researcher. Faralda was much more likely to find things in the library. “So, I just wait while you do research?”

“Oh no.” Faralda smiled. “You’re going to demonstrate that Shout for me. You also need to learn magic the way everyone else casts spells with a Seeming. I can report back to Mirabelle that I believe you have a gift for Destruction. That will give us some cover for meeting, but you need to show some talent. I have never taken an apprentice who hadn’t mastered both Frost and Shock. If you aren’t making progress on both of those it will raise questions. I’ll give you lessons, but you need to work hard at them.”

“I have no problems learning those spells.” She smiled. Private lessons from a Mistress of Destruction. “I was already planning to learn spells to make it safer to explore Nord barrows. Those will fit right in.”

“Good,” agreed Faralda. “I’m hoping it won’t come to exploring Nord barrows, but it might. What other spells were you going to study?”

“Healing is first on my list for obvious reasons. Potions are good, but they run out. Clairvoyance sounds important as well. I don’t particularly relish the prospect of getting lost underground.”

Faralda nodded approvingly. “Both are good choices. I’ll put that in my report as well. Make them a priority, but you should try to learn at least one spell from each school of magic. You might have a gift from one school or another. The only way to find out is to try. I suggest Candlelight from Alteration. Being able to make a light without a torch is useful. Enchanting and Conjuration are less useful unless you really specialize in them, and the post of Master Alchemist is unfortunately vacant.”

“So, no one teaches Alchemy at all?”

“No,” replied Faralda. “A part of that is Archmage Savos. He believes Alchemy to be more of a craft than a truly magical art. The post has been vacant for quite a while and he has made no effort to fill it, despite the obvious utility and profitability of the art.”

Daenerys nodded. She could understand that some. Even Orgnar back at the Sleeping Giant Inn, who was a simple man, dabbled in Alchemy. On the other hand, healing potions were very useful. She would have been eager to take lessons. Too bad she couldn’t. “So, now what?”

Faralda smiled. “Now, you will demonstrate Shouting for me.”

“Is that wise if we want to keep my ability to Shout secret? Shouts are loud.”

“This is the Destruction practice room. It’s reinforced and muffled. Now, show me.”

.oOo.

After Daenerys demonstrated both **Yol** and **Fus** multiple times, Faralda decided that she had seen enough and sent Daenerys on her way in time to make the second class of the day. Daenerys spotted the rest of the novitiates moving more or less together toward the Restoration classroom. She picked up the pace and fell in beside Brelyna waving at Onmund and J’zargo as she passed them.

“Morning, Daenerys. How did your assessment go?”

“Very well. Faralda believes I have a gift for Destruction.” However, any further conversation was cut off by their arrival at the Restoration classroom which was marked by a white bird in flight.

The room inside was not what Daenerys had been expected. It looked and smelled more like a stable. There was a large central area with stools and facing an empty podium with a slate board behind it. The rest of the room was divided into many animal pens housing pigs and cattle. As she took in the room the students filed into seats dividing themselves into distinct groups. The boys sat in the back, and the girls took seats in the front. They further segregated themselves by race with the humans sitting on the right of the room and the other races on the left. It didn’t feel enforced, more that like was drawn to like, but the divisions present in Skyrim were copied here in miniature. Daenerys wasn’t entirely sure what to make of it. Even Onmund, J’zargo, and Brelyna separated to sit by their charges. Daenerys saw her four charges waving excitedly to her. With a shrug she joined them.

An elderly woman breezed through the doorway just after Daenerys took her seat. She headed straight for the podium, so she had to be Colette Marence, Mistress of Restoration. She wore similar robes to the other Master Wizards, but hers had been altered. The neckline was lower, the top was tighter, and the hem was shorter showing some leg. All of that would make sense for a younger woman who wanted to flaunt her body, but Colette was in the autumn of her years. Her hair was shot with silver and her face showed deep wrinkles.

She reached the morning and faced the class. “Good morning, everyone.” Her voice was scratchy with years, but firm with authority.

“Good morning, Mistress Colette,” responded everyone except Daenerys who was caught unawares.

“We have a new novitiate today, Daenerys Targaryen the Unburnt. Stand up and tell us a bit about yourself, lass.”

Daenerys stood, irritated to be placed on the spot like this. Faralda had just instructed her to avoid attention. However, she was clearly expected to say something. “I am here to learn magic, and I appear to have a talent for Destruction…” What else would be harmless? “Tomorrow is my name day. I’ll turn twenty-one. As for the rest, I understand there is a custom of novitiates leaving their past behind them. I prefer not to talk about my past.”

Colette appeared vexed. “I suppose there is a tradition that allows that, but no one has invoked it in years. Still, you at least claimed a cognomen, the Unburnt. There must be a story behind that.”

“There is.” And she wasn’t about to share how she earned it. “Put simply, I don’t burn. At all. I can stand in the hottest blaze and the worst that would happen is my clothes would burning off and I would walk out covered in ashes.”

That triggered a wave of mutters and stares among the novitiates in the classroom.

“I can see that would be useful if you pursue Destruction. Very well, sit down.”

Daenerys sat. She was irritated at being treated like a young child. No wonder her fellow novitiates acted like children; they were treated as such.

“Good. We’ll skip the theory discussion for today. I want everyone to get in their assigned groups and work on basic healing with the livestock. Keep the injuries small and take turns. The one who does the healing should not be the one who cuts the beast. If you’re casting, remember the three key elements. I’ll be around to check on each group shortly. Daenerys, come on up here to the podium.”

Daenerys rose to her feet again keeping her irritation inside her. Growing up with Viserys she had learned how to keep her emotions on the inside. Being able to project a calm visage despite how she felt was a valuable skill. She forced a mild smile and replied calmly, “Yes, Master Wizard?”

“Mistress will do,” replied Colette. “I haven’t had time to read your initial report from Faralda. You do at least understand the three key elements of casting a spell?”

Daenerys nodded. “I do. Will, Focus, and Seeming.” She was not about to mention that she had just learned them this morning.

“Good. Now, can you cast any Restoration magic at all?”

“No, the only spells I can cast are Destruction.”

The high-pitched squeal of a pig came from off to her left. As if it was a signal this set off a chorus of squealing from other pigs. The cows joined by stomping and huffing. Daenerys looked around and saw the animals struggling against being bound in ropes.

“Eyes on me,” demanded Colette.

Daenerys turned back and met Colette’s gaze with her own. She kept her face tranquil, but she wasn’t cowed. She owed this woman respect for her position, not submission.

“Better. Now, that you know only Destruction is not surprising. It is always easier to destroy than build up,” lectured Colette. “Of the three key elements Will is the same for all casting. How would you Focus to heal?”

“For Focus you would use the wound being healed,” Daenerys guessed as she ignored the continued and louder squealing from the pigs and a loud bellow from a cow.

“Wrong. That’s an advanced technique. You aren’t ready for it. You would have to know what wounds are the deadliest and require attention first. Beginners should focus upon the entire person or beast to be healed. You must visualize them healthy and pain free. Now, what would you use for a Seeming?”

Daenerys knew that anger worked for Destruction, so she made a guess. “For Seeming you would use compassion and empathy.”

“A textbook answer,” scoffed Colette. “But, not a bad start. Compassion and empathy are a decent start. Love is even more powerful. The truest love is unselfish toward all. Most can only manage to love the ones closest to their own heart. However, there is an alternative. What barely gets managed in most magical textbooks is that if you are devout worshiper, then love and faith in a patron goddess is almost always a more effective Seeming than compassion or empathy. So, what gods do you follow?”

Daenerys frowned. “I thought the College took a scholarly approach to magic, not a religious one.”

“Officially, yes. Most of my colleagues disapprove that I involve the gods in magic at all. However, it is a proven method and highly effective for Restoration magics. So, spit it out. What gods do you follow?”

“The Nine Divines,” lied Daenerys. She couldn’t really call herself a follower of Azura. Nor the Red Temple, even though it had supported her. Once she had been convinced that Vezhof, the Great Stallion, had favored her with the child who would become the Stallion Who Mounts the World. If that had been ever been true, that had passed with Rhaego. She felt a connection to the old gods of Valyria, but their time had come and gone. She knew more of the dragons who bore their names.

“The Nine is a good start, but too abstract to make a useful Seeming. You would have to focus on a specific patron goddess. Most young maidens use Mara, and she is a good one for healing. Pretty ones like you often prefer Dibella.”

Daenerys was getting tired of her attitude. “I’m not a maiden. I’ve been married twice.”

“Been married? You’ve already survived two husbands at your age? Do you have children?”

“Yes, I’m twice widowed. My son was stillborn. There are reasons I want to leave my past behind. Now, are you going to teach me magic or not?”

“Mind your tone. You are still a novitiate here. Do you feel a close connection at all to Mara or Dibella?”

“No. I don’t have a strong connection to any of the Nine.” If anything, she leaned toward Akatosh, the dragon god, but that was because she was Targaryen.

“Pity. Well, you’re still a beautiful young woman. If you come see me outside of class, I would be glad to instruct you on the ways of Dibella.”

“I’ll consider it.”

“Do so. Now, the healing of one’s self is the easiest to perform. Wanting the pain to cease is a simple and yet powerful Seeming. However, we practice on animals. Can you tell me why?”

“Because the College doesn’t want us hurting ourselves or our fellow students.” That was obvious.

“Very good, but it is not just for your physical safety. When you inflict harm just so you can heal the wound, it undermines your attempt to build a Seeming based on empathy, compassion, or love. If you really cared about the injured party, you wouldn’t have hurt them in the first place. It’s also unsafe. Minor wounds run the risk that you cannot heal it, because you know it’s not that serious. Major wounds are dangerous because someone might bleed out if you fail to heal.”

“It sounds like the best way to practice for Restoration is actually on the battlefield.”

“Bah,” scoffed Colette. “You would learn quickly that way, but you would also risk lives if you weren’t skilled. Wounding animals is the best compromise for practice. We also work with partners, so we are not healing the wounds we inflict.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t, but you’re starting to. Let’s join your charges. I want to see you practice first. Then I need to help the others.”

.oOo.

As grating as Colette’s manner was, Daenerys had to admit that she knew Restoration. While Daenerys couldn’t heal any wounds her first day, Colette did help her to the point that she felt something stirring. Her own first steps with Flames and Shove had started with a similar weak feeling that something was there. While doing so she also learned that Colette seemed to favor the pretty girls, Enja in particular.

At lunch while talking with her fellow senior novitiates the truth came out. The Mistress of Restoration was highly controversial. That she had learned magic as a Priestess of Dibella at the temple in Markarth was a widely known fact. That she had been ousted due to temple politics was often repeated. That she obtained her post by trading sexual favors with Archmage Savos was wild speculation, as was whether she was sleeping with any or all the faculty members. Although most thought she was at least sleeping with Sergius Turrianus, the Master of Enchanting. The other often repeated ‘fact’ was that most of the faculty didn’t approve of her. Colette seemed to believe it was because of a disdain for the School of Restoration. However, her fellow initiates seemed to feel that it was her emphasis on using a religious approach that had alienated the other faculty members. Or possibly because the rumors of her earning her place through sexual favors were actually true.

Over the next few days, she had classes with the other Master Wizards of the College: Segius Turrianus, Master of Enchanting; Tolfdir, Master of Alteration; Drevis Neloren, Master of Illusion; and Phinis Gestor, Master of Conjuration. Mirabelle Irvine also taught general magical theory. While they had their differences, they were all highly knowledgeable about their fields, they all emphasized the three key elements of casting a spell, and they all taught with similar methods. Magical theory was mostly taught by assigned readings and then discussed during the first part of class. The bulk of the class was focused on practical application. There would be an assigned spell for the day, and the Master Wizard would circulate around the room while everyone practiced.

The schedule was straightforward: Two lessons in the morning, followed by lunch, then another lesson, and finally free practice in the Hall of Elements in the afternoon – still under the watchful eye of Master Wizards. Lessons were six days a week, Morndas through Loredas with Sundas off. As novitiates they were expected to attend every class and to attempt to master every spell. They were also treated as children. They were expected to listen, obey, and fail often. To advance to an apprenticeship required acceptance from one of the Master Wizards. At that point instruction was much more individualized.

While being treated as a child again frustrated her to no end, she was relieved that the lessons were not more arduous. As a novitiate she was expected to know nothing, she was expected to struggle, and she was expected to fail. Trying to force her mind to think specific thoughts was challenging, but she could feel something stirring inside her. It wasn’t as pronounced as when she had first started using **Yol** and **Fus** to learn Flames and Shove, but it was there.

However, theory was her stumbling block. Her vocabulary for spoken Tamrielic was growing rapidly, but she still struggled with reading even simple books. The magical theory books they were assigned to read weren’t simple at all. Not only were the concepts themselves abstract, but the authors all seemed to love using flowery language. Fortunately, no one seemed to expect her to discuss the readings in class. Rather than trying to follow the text, Daenerys set herself the more reasonable goal of merely understanding the vocabulary. She read each assigned reading line by line and looked up every word she didn’t know in Brelyna’s copy of _The New Imperial Dictionary of Cyrodyllic._ That was slow going, but at least she felt like she was making progress.

She was also finding the company of her fellow senior initiates to be comforting. They had surprised her after practice on her name day and insisted that the day must be celebrated with drink. That required a bit of juggling as they first had to get all their charges into bed, but then the four of them met up and opened several skins of wine. Even J’zargo drank a little, but he also had a little bowl of moon sugar that he sniffed at. By midnight her head was swimming, and she insisted on calling it a night. She had to wave off Onmund who tried to help her to her room. He was even more drunk than she was. However, she didn’t end up sleeping at least not right away. Instead she and Brelyna stayed up chatting.

“He likes you,” observed Brelyna.

“J’zargo? Yes, his flattery is obvious. Can humans and Khajiit even… have sex? Have children?”

Brelyna laughed. “Have sex? Yes, they can. Mer and men can even have sex with Argonians. Remind me to loan you my copy of The Lusty Argonian Maid. Have children, no. Besides, J’zargo isn’t serious. He is merely an enormous flirt. I wasn’t talking about J’zargo. I meant Onmund. He likes you.”

“Onmund?” Daenerys shook her head. “He’s still a boy. I know he has a man’s years, but he is too wet behind the ears for me. I like my men dangerous and confident. Besides, I am here to learn magic, not for romance.”

“Dangerous and confident,” Brelyna almost purred. “And have you known such men?”

Daenerys smiled. The wine dulled the pain somewhat and helped her remember the good times. “Oh yes, I have. Let me tell you about…” not Drogo, nor John Snow, nor Jorah… “Daario Naharis. He could flirt as shamelessly as J’zargo, but he could back it up.”


	13. Chapter 12

**Chapter 12**  
Fredas, the 24th of Frostfall through Loredas, the 29th of Sun’s Dusk, Year 201 of the 4th Era

  
Daenerys had been confident that she would be able to learn at least some novitiate spells within a few weeks. After all it had taken her less than a month to learn Flames from **Yol** and less than a fortnight to learn Shove from **Fus**. However, she quickly discovered that learning to cast magic by using a Seeming was much more difficult than creating a spell from a Shout. After weeks of effort she had yet to cast a single spell using a Seeming. She had come close upon occasion, manifesting a brief flickering light when attempting Candlelight, feeling her hand grow cold when attempting Frost, and producing a wisp of smoke with Clairvoyance. That had been judged good progress by her instructors.  
  
Of course, she might have made better progress if she hadn’t spent much of her time learning Firebolt. Once she had seen it demonstrated, she had realized that a Firebolt spell was adding force to flame – two things she already knew how to do with magic. All she had to do was combine the principles of **Fus** and **Yol** to push fire out and impact a target. From inspiration to actually casting Firebolt had required lot of meditation, concentration and practice, but from the start the spell had felt right. The resulting spell drained her more than Flames or Shove, almost on the level of Shouting a Word. However, Firebolt had the advantage of range over either Shout she knew. She could see where it would come in handy – like in a Nord barrow when she didn’t want to wait for draugr to get in her face before she attacked them.  
  
Faralda was also pleased on many levels that **Fus** and **Yol** could be combined to cast Firebolt. First, because it proved that Shouts could be combined to cast more complex and powerful spells. Second, because Daenerys had mastered it so quickly. Faralda believed that proved it was easier to learn magic based off Shouts than a Seeming. It also had the added advantage of providing proof that Daenerys had a strong talent for fire magic. Faralda had started giving Daenerys ‘extra lessons’ three times a week in the evenings. While she did give Daenerys some instruction, they lessons were mostly a cover for their research into Shout-based magic.  
  
The research phase had ended up taking more time because Faralda had uncovered a wealth of material, but most of it wasn’t that helpful. That meant she had to do a lot of reading and summarizing. While there were plenty of stories about famous Nords who could shout, they were short on details. The library barely mentioned the Greybeards at all. However, Faralda had discovered that there was quite a lot written on the subject of Tonal Magic, which included not only Shouting, or the Thu’um, but also Dwemer Tonal Architecture, and possibly the Redguard lost art of Sword Singing. Despite having made little progress, Faralda was excited by the possibilities. Unfortunately, most of Faralda’s attempts to share her research with Daenerys often went over her head.  
  
Daenerys was more interested about what Faralda had discovered about word walls. They were written in the Dragon language, or more properly Dovah-Zul, Dragon-voice. Faralda had found an entire book _Dragon Language: Myth No More_ that had not only copied down the runic language, but translated it as well. The book claimed that word walls were not only found in Nord barrows, but also upon so-called ‘dragon peaks’ and other hard to reach places in Skyrim. Three of those ‘dragon peaks’ were identified in the book: Ancient’s Ascent in Falkreath, Eldersblood Peak south of Morthal, and Mount Anthor which was about four days southwest of Winterhold when the passes were safe to travel. Even better from her perspective was the Dovah-Zul to Tamrelic codex. Daenerys found the language both beautiful and easy to understand. Yet, the language was frustrating as well. Neither the runes nor the pronunciation truly captured the deeper meaning. She now knew that Fo – Krah – Diin meant Frost – Cold – Freeze, but saying the words still left her feeling that something essential was missing. Despite the emptiness of the words, Daenerys had borrowed the book from Faralda. Sometimes she took it out and read the words out loud committing them to memory. Although she would always put it away before very long out of frustration. Reading and rereading that book wasn’t helpful, and she had many other things she needed to be doing.  
  
If left to herself, Daenerys would have likely spent all her free time studying and practicing magic. Fun was something that had never been a priority in her life. Yes, she’d had lovers. With the exception of Hizdahr zo Loraq she had found pleasure in their arms, but the joy she’d found had been fleeting. Tyrion had tried to get her to drink more, but she hadn’t liked the loss of control that came with too much drink. It had been so important back on Planetos to always be in control. In some ways that hadn’t changed. She worked and studied hard so she could regain control over her own life, and to have control required power. In her previous life she hadn’t wielded power in her own person. Her power had been through her proxies: her dragons and her armies. She found having a power that was all her own to be deeply satisfying. However, her fellow senior initiates: Onmund, J’zargo and especially Brelyna wouldn’t let her spend all her time in study and practice. They seemed to feel it was their duty to make sure she had fun.  
  
With Onmund being a Nord, it was no surprise that his idea of fun revolved around drinking and singing off-key. J’zargo loved moon sugar and gambling, whether it was with dice or tiles. Naturally, he wanted to wager gold, but none of them had much in the way of spare coin, so they played for points and favors instead. Brelyna preferred a game called Stones. The rules were simple. Each player took turns placing one stone of their color on a hexagonal grid. Any stone that was adjacent to three stones of another color had to be removed. The resulting game was surprisingly difficult and resulted in a lot of good-spirited bickering as alliances changed rapidly throughout the game. While Daenerys had to be coaxed to participate in any of these pastimes, she usually ended up enjoying herself. At least until the next day when she had to work hard to catch up for time lost.  
  


.oOo.

  
“So… you need more time to research?” asked Daenerys. That’s what she’d concluded from Faralda’s long-winded discussion on her lack of progress researching Shouting in the College library.  
  
“Indeed,” agreed Faralda. “We have made excellent progress for a mere month. We have connected word walls to the dragon language to Shouting. We know the location of several word walls scattered across Skyrim. I still have books I haven’t read yet. We’re still just beginning.”  
  
“What about more experiments? We haven’t done all that many.”  
  
“We’ve done the ones that are safe. We know your Shouts can shatter wooden dummies and turn them into kindling. We know that just being near you and listening to you Shout is not enough for me to learn how to Shout myself. The next step is obvious. I let you Shout at me, then see if I can learn that way.” She shook her head. “No, I’ve seen the damage you can do with your Shouts. We could mitigate that with good enchanted armor. However, good enchantments don’t cost cheap. Sergius would do the enchanting for free, but only if I had a research proposal signed off by Archmage Savos. That’s not the kind of attention we want to attract. No, I’m not willing to go down that road while there is still research that can be done. Have a little patience.”  
  
Daenerys almost scoffed. Have patience, said the mer to the human. That was so merish that even she knew about it. However, she kept her uncharitable thoughts to herself. She knew Faralda was working hard already. Daenerys knew she would get nowhere trying to do the research alone. “I see. So, is there anything that I can do to help?”  
  
“Not with the research. I think you should focus on your study and practice at this time. It’s my hope that once you can successfully cast spells using a Seeming, you will find it easier to describe the difference between normal spellcasting, and your Shout-based spellcasting. Now, we do have some time left, so let’s work on your Frost spell. Turn that frustration you are feeling into anger. For Frost it is important to keep it a cold rage.”  
  
Daenerys didn’t know which was worse, that Faralda could read her impatience and frustration so readily, or that she was getting better at channeling her frustration into a cold anger. However, she wasn’t about to turn down one-on-one tutoring sessions.  
  


.oOo.

  
Without a doubt Magical Theory was Daenerys’s least favorite class. She knew magical theory was important. The three key elements were merely the starting place for novitiates. A deeper understanding of magic was needed to focus all of the more powerful spells. Magical theory also formed the basis for rituals, major workings, and spell crafting. However, it was just so damn complicated. Magic theory was like a lovers-sized bed covered in children’s blankets – there was a lot of overlap, none of them covered the whole bed, but together they covered most of the bed.  
  
Mirabelle Irvine was good at breaking the theories down using simple language instead of all the gold-plated words that their textbooks used. Unfortunately for Daenerys, the lectures only came after she had struggled her way through dense books that left her grabbing for Brelyna’s dictionary with every third word. Usually by the end of one of Mirabelle’s lessons, Daenerys felt like she had a grasp of the main thrust of that theory, but Mirabelle was already pushing on to the next topic. And then there were the ‘guided discussions’...  
  
“Settle down,” said Mirabelle. Her voice wasn’t loud, but she spoke with authority and all talking immediately ceased. “Good. Senior Initiates, I want you to guide your charges in a discussion of the theories presented by Furius Camillus II in _Optimum Spell Configuration_ versus Lilisephona in _Conditioning of Magic Flows_. Summarize the main points of each theory, compare and contrast the two theories, pick which theory you prefer, and defend your choice. Senior Initiates, you may present your findings, or designate a spokesperson. You have fifteen minutes. Begin now.”  
  
There was a rustling of chairs as everyone rearranged to face their groups instead of the front of the classroom. Daenerys forced a neutral smile on her face. She loathed these discussions.  
  
“Ma’am, what do you think of the theories?” asked Enja with an insincere smile. While only fifteen she already had a woman’s figure with curves that rivaled the naked statue of Diabella that held a place of honor in the teen’s room. Her red hair hung about her shoulders and her lips were painted to match her hair. Enja constantly tried to buck her authority in what she probably thought were subtle ways, like challenging her on theory questions.  
  
“I’m supposed to guide this discussion, not provide the answers, Enja. Since you spoke up, we’ll start with you. Summarize the main points of _Optimum Spell Configuration_.”  
  
“Certainly.” Enja smiled before launching into a rapid fire explanation. “Furros Camelus noted that while are many different possible spell configurations that some of them are inherently better than others. While it’s theoretically possible to make a fire spell like Flames that traverse more distance or burns at little hotter at the cost of more magicka, it just isn’t as efficient. He felt there were certain combinations that produced the most impact for the least effort. He was one of the mages primarily responsible for codifying our current spell selection over the third era methodology where mages tended to individualize spells a lot more.”  
  
“Very nice, Enja.” Daenerys smiled at her. As fast as Enja rattled off all those gold-plated words, she was willing to bet the little bitch had rehearsed that speech just to speak over her head. Enja knew good and well that she still struggled with Tamrelic at times. Fortunately, Furius Camillus favored a no-nonsense style of writing. His book had been by far the easier of the two to read.  
  
Daenerys glanced over to Sofija. “And what do you think?”  
  
Sofija was the oldest of her charges, built more like a warrior maid than a mage, or perhaps a bandit. It was a look she deliberately cultivated by shaving the sides of her head except for a vertical strip along the crown of her head. She accentuated the look with blue facepaint in a skull pattern and wearing leather armor rather than novitiate robes. “I liked his book. Most of this theory stuff is all in the clouds, but Furius, he’s like sometimes you need a sword, sometimes you need an axe, and sometimes you need a dagger, but you never need a sword-axe-dagger thing.”  
  
“Sofija! That was…” Surprising. She almost never contributed to theory discussions. “On point.” Daenerys made a little stabbing motion as if holding a dagger.  
  
Sofija gave an undignified snort-giggle. “Hey, you’re not all bad.”  
  
Daenerys glanced at Matilda who was staring at Sofija, and decided to skip her for now. “Tailour, how about the other book, _Conditioning of Magic Flows_?” It had certainly been the more confusing of the two books, and Taillour was usually the best at theory.  
  
Taillour was at that gawky adolescent stage where she was growing rapidly but still had the softness of childhood. She scowled a lot, but when asked a question like this she broke out into a broad smile. Taillour eagerly launched into an explanation. “Lilisephona takes a completely different approach in her book. Which isn’t surprising. She’s an academic. Furius was an early 4th era Imperial battlemage and responsible for training other battlemages. His focus was on what worked best. He felt some spells just worked better and were easier to learn, so they should be taught first. Lilisephona was more interested in why some spells worked better. She theorized that the more often a spell is used throughout Mundus, the easier that spell is to cast. That just as mages learn to cast a spell, the entire world learns to respond to certain spells. She didn’t really offer any proof, but she documented how some spells go in and out of popularity. For example, it used to be popular to summon skeletons and scamps, but now atronachs are preferred.”  
  
Daenerys nodded approvingly, clearly Tailour had understood the reading better than she had, although she wished Tailour would slow down. At least with Tailour the speed was due to overenthusiasm and not malice. “That sounds quite good, Tailour. Now, if I understand correctly the theories don’t conflict? And please, a little slower this time.”  
  
“No, not at all,” replied Tailour. This time she was obviously restraining her excitement. “They complement each other actually. Furius identified what he regarded as the optimum spells – which are the same spells that form our curriculum today. Lilisephona tried to explain why some spells work better.”  
  
“Yeah, but she’s a mer,” complained Matilda. “Of course she thinks she’s right, but her proof boils down to ‘when I was a wee little mer of fifty, it was every so easy to cast Summon Skamp, but now that atronachs are the rage it’s just so hard’. Like the old witch really remember how hard it was to cast some spell two hundred years ago.”  
  
“Matilda,” scolded Daenerys. “First of all, we don’t judge books by the race of the author. Second of all, don’t be foolish. Has it escaped your notice that the archmage is a Dunmer and the faculty are of many different races? That less than half of the students are Nords? Can you offer an opinion based on the words she wrote and not her race?”  
  
Somehow Daenerys got through the guided discussion. While she wanted to nominate Tailour to present because she had the best grasp of the material that wouldn’t be fair. Tailour had presented last time. Instead she picked Sofja. While her assessment had been rather colorful, she had hit the target. Daenerys also felt it was important to reward her for making progress. It turned out to be a good choice. Sofja’s colorful explanation drew some laughs, but also received praise from Mirabelle.  
  
Daenerys made a point of complimenting Sofja when she sat back down. The rebellious Nord girl didn’t say anything, but as they were leaving Sofja punched her lightly in the upper arm and gave her a nod. That felt like progress too.  
  


.oOo.

  
Daenerys was surprised when there was a letter waiting for her. Some of the other students received regular letters, but she didn’t know anyone who would write to her. Perhaps Gerdur? Except it was addressed to ‘Lady Daenerys the Unburnt’. Curious she opened it up.  
  


> Lady Daenerys the Unburnt,
> 
> I was pleased to hear that you survived the dragon attack on the caravan and were glimpsed in Winterhold. Since no one has seen you these past few weeks, I believe it is safe to guess that you have achieved what you set out to do and joined the College of Winterhold. As for myself, I managed to hire a few wagons and secure salvage rights to the caravan. While I lost some of my goods and my horses, salvaging the caravan more than made up for my losses. Regrettably, the salvage operation took more time than I hoped. Now I’m stuck here in the frozen ass end of nowhere known as Winterhold until the snows melt and it is safe to travel south again. Fear not, all is not lost. I’ve struck up an acquaintance with a lonely widow outside of town. That helps me pass these bitterly cold and boring winter months. As does stopping by the Frozen Hearth for a few glasses of wine and some conversation from time to time.
> 
> I understand that apprentices have Sundas off and can come into Winterhold. I’ll be there Sundas the 22nd in the evening if you want to share stories and a few pints. Don’t read anything untoward into it, I have my widow to keep me warm. There were a few rumors floating around about a Dragon Witch, but those have mostly died out. I’d like to hear the truth of things, and that you’re settled in safe and sound.
> 
> Sagyval

  
  
  
Daenerys was smiling by the end of the letter. A widow acquaintance? That sounded like Sagyval as did landing on his feet. She wouldn’t mind sharing a drink with him. Brelyna had been suggesting that they all visit Winterhold on Sundas anyway.  
  
Apparently, a major holiday, Saturnalia, was fast approaching. Exchanging small gifts between friends was expected. Most Nords exchanged handmade crafts with their families. At the College the custom was for senior initiates to exchange gifts with each other and their charges as well. Brelyna wanted to shop for gifts for this holiday. Daenerys didn’t entirely understand her eagerness. Winterhold had been a dreary little town when she passed through it. Saturnalia was still weeks away and if she understood the custom correctly sweetmeats, candies, or something small and useful like paper and ink was all that was expected of them. Still, it would be nice to have a change of scenery.  
  
She also found that it mattered to her that Brelyna was eager to go. Daenerys had never really had friends before. Missandei had been close. She had been a confidant and an advisor, but never an equal. Daenerys had thought nothing of giving orders to Missandei, orders that she fully expected to be carried out promptly. While she knew little of friendship, she knew that one did not give orders to one’s friends. She was pretty sure Brelyna was a friend now. Onmund and J’zargo were getting there. Having a chance to talk to Sagyval would just be a bonus. Now that she knew the Dragon Witch rumors had died out, and it was safe to go into town, she could spend the day doing whatever College students do in town with them. It might even be fun.


	14. Chapter 13

# Chapter 13

Sundas, the 30th of Sun's Dusk, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Once they left the shelter of the College walls, they were exposed to the weather. A cold wet wind blew from the Sea of Ghost. It brought rain, a little bit of sleet, and occasional flurries of snow. Daenerys wore the furs that Aranea had enchanted for warmth, and she had her cloak bundled up tight around her face against the rain, yet winter’s chill still soaked through. She already regretted her decision to come along. This was not what she had in mind when she had imagined visiting Winterhold with her friends. However, she had already promised Brelyna that she would come, and there were no classes or open practice on Sundas. If she turned back, she could only study theory, and she was sick of theory.

“So, what is there to do in Winterhold?” asked Daenerys once they crossed the bridge and entered the town. 

“The Frozen Hearth has good mead,” suggested Onmund. “And one of the tavern wenches is pretty cute.”

“J’zargo cares little for the mead, save that it makes Nords foolish with their wagers when they gamble. J’zargo likes this idea.”

Brelyna sighed. “Saturnalia will be here soon. Did we not agree that we would look at what is for sale at Brina’s Oddments first?”

Onmund shrugged. He wasn’t even wearing a cloak, and his hair was slick from the rain, but he didn’t seem bothered by the weather in the least. “I find a drinking a bit of mead makes shopping a much more enjoyable pastime.”

“Far be it you wait to start drinking,” scoffed Brelyna with a teasing undertone. “I’m not your mother. I won’t pick out gifts for you, and the prices will only go up the closer it gets to Saturnalia.”

“J’zargo will come with the beautiful ladies.” Despite having a fur coat, he at least looked properly miserable in the weather. “Perhaps Brina will have the moon sugar.”

Onmund sighed. “Fine, let’s get this over with.”

Brina’s Oddments proved to be an all-purpose store along the lines of the Riverwood Trader. It was most notable for a collection of horker tusks and scrimshaw carvings. The proprietress, Brina, was a young Nord who tried to project a casual attitude. However, it was clear that she was eager to have customers.

Onmund was just as eager to buy. He walked up to the candy section, scooped out some of the cheaper candies, and paid. “Well, that was thirsty work. Off to quench that thirst with some mead. Have fun shopping ladies.”

Daenerys tagged along beside Brelyna. She pointed out different possibilities for her charges. Candies were acceptable, but Daenerys decided to spend a little bit more on something that would last longer than the day. She selected some hair ribbons for Matilda and Enja since they both obsessed over their appearance. She picked out a brush for Tailour for her long dark curly hair. For Sofija she got a whetstone, so she could sharpen all the ‘hidden’ knives she carried. She decided on paper and ink for J’zargo and Onmund; simple and practical. She also picked up some of the scented soap that Brelyna hinted at. All in all, shopping had been easier than she expected and cheaper than she had feared. Although, paper and ink seemed rather impersonal. She decided to look around to see if anything else caught her eye while Brelyna made her own purchases.

Meanwhile, J’zargo wasn’t willing to take no for an answer. “If the pretty lady does not have the moon sugar, can the pretty lady at least place an order for J’zargo?”

“No,” explained the shopkeeper. “It’s winter. Win-ter. Nobody comes. Nobody goes. Not in this weather. What you see is what you get until spring. Well, unless you want scrimshaw, fish, or furs.”

Perhaps some fancier quills? Daenerys drifted over into the scrimshaw. Most of the ivory carvings were more than she wished to spend, but there were some smaller pieces as well. Would J’zargo like a tiny ivory carving of a saber cat? Or would that be offensive? Would a bear do for Onmund? Maybe she should stick with the ink? Her funds were limited. Then she saw the claw.

[ ](https://vignette.wikia.nocookie.net/elderscrolls/images/e/e7/TESV_Dragon_Claw_Coral.png/revision/latest/scale-to-width-down/128?cb=20120513094629)

It had the exact same shape as the golden claw that had been stolen from the Riverwood Trader. This claw was coral in color and had different symbols: snake, wolf, and moth. Daenerys had no doubt that it was the key to a Nord barrow, the kind of key that opened the door to the final chamber. She turned the claw over in her hands a few times. Casually she asked, “What is this? It’s obviously not scrimshaw.”

Brina had just finished wrapping up Brelyna’s purchases into a parcel. She glanced over to see what Daenerys was holding. “Oh that? That was a stupid mistake. I shouldn't have believed the story and just refused the trade. But I didn't, and now I'm stuck with some worthless junk."

J’zargo’s ears pricked up, literally. “Oh, a story. J’zargo likes stories. What is this one?”

“Just an old Nord who told me this claw thing was the key to a treasure Yngol Barrow. He said it would be worth more than its weight in gold if I took it back there. Something about placing it back in Yngol's chamber.” She sighed. “I don’t know. What was I thinking? Even if it were true, I'm not setting foot in some ancient tomb, filled with who knows what.”

“Filled with draugr and traps and death, but also shiny treasures, or so J’zargo has heard. It is not moon sugar, but what does the pretty lady want for the claw?”

“You want it? Fine. I'll sell you the thing for 50 gold.”

J’zargo shook his head. “No, that is too much for J’zargo, he is but a poor and struggling student.”

Daenerys knew an opportunity when she saw one. “I’ll give you 20 septims for it.”

Brina frowned and walked around her counter. “I paid more than that. 40 septims.”

Daenerys scoffed. “I am also a student. Do I look like I can afford 40 septims? I’ll give you 25.”

“Actually,” Brina looked her over. “You look you can afford quite a bit more than most around here. 35.”

She wasn’t sure what Brina meant by that. Her furs were enchanted, but they were worn and the bloodstains had never come out. The only thing fancy about her was her hair. “30 septims – if you can tell me where Yngol Barrow lies.”

“Done. Yngol Barrow is east of Windhelm overlooking the south bank of the White River.”

As Daenerys went to pay, she realized she had just dropped 30 septims on a claw in front of her friends. If she gave them the gifts she initially selected, they would think she was cheap. With a sigh she purchased the two ivory miniatures for the boys and bought a much larger bar of the scented soap that Brelyna favored. It was obvious that the shopkeepers were the ones really behind this gift-giving holiday, or perhaps the trader god, Zenithar. Thankfully, no one asked about the claw until they left the shop.

“I can’t believe you bought that thing,” said Brelyna. “It’s probably a fake.”

“No, I’ve seen another claw just like this one. This is the key to a Nord puzzle lock. It’s worth a good bit more than thirty septims.”

“And what are you planning to do with it? You’re not seriously thinking of trying to explore a Nord tomb? Those places are death traps.”

Daenerys shrugged. “It wouldn’t be the first barrow that I have explored. They’re survivable if you have the right companions.” Although in her vague plans to explore Nord barrows in search of word walls, she had overlooked the puzzle locks.

J’zargo made an interested rumble. “J’zargo has heard they are full of treasure, but he agrees with the pretty dark lady. There is much danger there. Not that J’zargo is afraid of danger. Perhaps, someday… J’zargo will soon have mastered every spell, and he likes shiny coins and treasures.”

Daenerys nodded in agreement. “Yes, perhaps someday. I’m planning to stay until I make Adept at least.” Although Faralda’s research might change that. “Besides it’s Sun’s Dusk. Leaving Winterhold before spring would be very foolish.” She wasn’t in a hurry. Finding the claw had simply been too great an opportunity to pass up. Although J’zargo sounded more than casually interested. While the khajiit bragged a lot, he also seemed to have a gift for magic. 

The three of them hurried into the Frozen Hearth to get out of the weather. Brelyna ordered mulled wine and Daenerys joined her. The spiced and heated wine was just the thing to shake off the cold weather. Onmund was already on his second cup and singing loudly. The inn was busier than she expected, but it was the only tavern in the town. J’zargo had found a game of tiles and immediately joined in. For a while Daenerys just relaxed and chatted with Brelyna.

Then she overheard an Altmer in college robes talking to the innkeeper about some kind of experiment. She nudged Brelyna. “Is that one of the adepts or experts? I don’t think I’ve seen him around the College, but he looks too old to be an apprentice.”

Brelyna looked over at him. “Oh, he’s not with the College. At least not any longer. That’s Nelacar. You haven’t heard about him yet? It was quite the scandal.”

“No, I haven’t heard anything about this. I’m new here, remember. What scandal?”

“This was… four months ago, before you arrived. Malyn Varen, Nelacar, Frina Livia, and some others somehow managed to get their hands on a Daedric artifact – Azura’s Star.” Brelyna paused to sip her wine.

Daenerys had all but forgotten Azura’s Star in favor of studying magic and her secret research with Faralda. Now it dropped into her lap. She listened raptly while keeping an eye on Nelacar.

“They started doing experiments, and they got pretty dark,” continued Brelyna. “An apprentice died. Accident the College claims, but some claim she was sacrificed. Malyn Varen fled along with quite a few others. Nelacar stayed behind. He tried to claim that he wasn’t involved in the darker practices, but the Archmage threw him out anyway. They say Master Wizard Phinis turned them all in. That’s how he got the post of Master of Conjuration.”

“That’s interesting.” So, Aranea’s vision had proved accurate yet again. An elven mage who studies the stars. Nelacar was the key to finding Azura’s star. “Do you know why Nelacar is still here then? And what happened to Malyn Varen?”

Brelyna shrugged. “Not a clue. I would guess Nelacar is wealthy enough that he can afford to rent a room here on a permanent basis. Maybe he just has nowhere else to go? I haven’t even heard rumors of where Malyn Varen fled to. We’re a little cut-off from the local gossip in the College.”

Before Daenerys could ask any more questions an angry Nord woman suddenly started pointing at her and yelling. “Thaat’s herr! Thaat’s the drraagon wisch! Shitting there like a shkeever in our miss.”

Now that the woman was yelling at her, Daenerys belatedly recognized her as one of the people that had paid to ride in the wagonmaster’s cart. Her name was Bigga… no Vigga. She had dirty blonde hair tied up in severe braids. Her clothes had once been expensive, but now were well-worn and stained. She had obviously been well-off because she wasn’t merely stout the way some Nord women were, but actually plump. She was obviously also drunk. Unfortunately, Vigga had caught everyone’s attention with her yelling.

Daenerys stood up. So much for those ridiculous rumors having died out. The woman was larger than her, but she had faced much worse than a fat middle-aged drunken woman. She was also aware that this wasn’t just about the two of them. This scene was unfolding in front of an audience. Which might work to her advantage. “Please. You are the one screeching like a skeever. I’m a paying customer sitting here enjoying my wine and conversation. Take your leave.”

Vigga faltered, but she didn’t back down. Apparently, she didn’t care if she caused a scene. “You’rre a wisch! You cahled down that drragon that killed my husband!”

Daenerys had seen challenges like this happen at the Sleeping Giant inn, but only between Nord men. They had all escalated to fistfights. Usually, that ended with one of the men laying on the floor unable to continue, but she had also seen it end with the two men hugging each other like long lost brothers. She’d never seen a fistfight involving Nord women, but it sure felt like that was where this was heading. The onlookers seemed to have the same eager anticipation rather than the angry outrage of a lynch mob. Onmund had stood up and was looking upset. J’zargo seemed to be placing bets.

“I’m sorry for your loss, but I am a mere novitiate at the College of Winterhold. I don’t have that kind of power. Now, if you don’t mind, I would like to finish my wine in peace.” Deliberately she turned her back on the woman. It was a calculated insult and risk. While Nords didn’t approve of cowardly attacks in general, many fistfights started with a sucker punch. If Vigga did attack from behind, she would get the first strike, but Daenerys could survive a punch for the moral high ground.

“Donsch you turrn youhr back on mee! Cowhard! Figh me.”

Daenerys continued to ignore the outraged Nord. She even shook her head at Brelyna who seemed about to take action. She tried to listen behind her and anticipate the blow she expected to come, but the tavern was noisy. Her only warning was a brief widening of Brelyna’s eyes before the blow smashed into the back of her head. Her skull exploded in pain and her face smashed down to the table. Daenerys shook her head as she rose and faced the Nord woman. “Coward. If this is the way it has to be, so be it.”

Daenerys raised her fists. While she had no skill at fistfighting or great strength, her opponent wasn’t a fighter either. Vigga was older, taller, probably stronger, but also plump and most importantly so drunk that her words were slurring. Daenerys didn’t see herself losing this fight.

“Wisch! Wisch! Wisch!” screeched Vigga as she came in fists flailing.

Daenerys circled to the left and sidestepped Vigga’s charge. It was almost too easy. Instead of punching, she pushed Vigga as she passed. Vigga stumbled and crashed into a table, knocking over drinks and causing curses among the trio of Nords sitting there. Her opponent was stronger, but slower and even more drunk than she thought.

Vigga turned back around and charged again. “Wisch! Muhrdehrah! Shtand sstill and figh.”

Daenerys stepped aside again, easily ducking under Vigga’s flailing fists. This time she got some punches in, but Vigga’s flab was apparently good for soaking blows. She probably hurt her fists more than Vigga.

A circle of spectators had closed around them cheering and screaming. Some of them helped Vigga get oriented to make another charge. Daenerys readied herself. Really, this was sad. She didn’t want to fight, but there was no way to back out of this without losing face. Vigga came back swinging. Daenerys ducked beneath the woman’s flailing fists and punched up at her paunch of a belly. It felt like punching a pillow. Vigga let out a woof of air and doubled over. Daenerys seized Vigga by the hair with her left hand. She tightened her fist and repeatedly punched Vigga in the face. She felt something crunch and blood flew from Vigga’s nose. The angry Nord bellowed in pain, turned suddenly, and tackled, or more accurately belly-flopped, Daenerys to the floor.

Daenerys found herself crushed beneath the larger woman. Vigga ranted as she tried to pin Daenerys down. Meanwhile, she struggled to get free as best she could, turning, twisting, grabbing, and trying to avoid getting caught in a hold. In her wild scrambling, she caught her hand in Vigga’s clothing and pulled. There was a sudden ripping sound. Vigga screamed and rolled away trying cover herself up as an old saggy breast flopped out for everyone to see. Not that it was a sight that Daenerys particularly wanted to see.

The crowd roared with laughter. “I think the little one fights a like a man!” yelled one. “Not much to look at, but a good handful at least.” “Size isn’t everything.” “Keep telling yerself that, Rafa.”

Daenerys used the time to catch her breath. She had underestimated Vigga’s weight, but she was still confident. “Are you done? I’d like to just get back to my wine.”

Vigga had other ideas. She pulled a knife out of a sheath on her belt. “Bisch! Die!”

“Enough!” Daenerys called Flames and jetted fire several inches from her hands, but deliberately kept it controlled and not an attack. “You are a coward and a drunk. You start rumors and whispers rather than confront me. You attacked me from behind. Now you bring a weapon to a fistfight. Come at me with that knife in hand and I will burn you down where you stand. I did not kill your husband. I don’t control dragons. Leave me be and go sleep it off.”

Silence fell upon the crowd. It was the innkeeper that broke it. “She is right, Vigga. If you want to duel to the death, take it outside, not in my tavern.”

“No,” came a new voice standing just inside the doorway to the inn. The man who spoke was wearing a fur cloak and heavy armor. He also had a shield bearing the symbol of a three-pointed crown which stood for Winterhold. He had a companion dressed just like it at his side. “There will be no duels to the death. Stand down both of you. Vigga, get yourself a room and sleep it off. As for you,” he pointed at Daenerys. “Jarl Korir would like a word with you.”

.oOo.

Daenerys was not thrilled to be hauled in front of another jarl. While Jarl Balgruuf hadn’t been that bad, he hadn’t been that good either. Balgruuf had all but commanded her to join the expedition to Bleak Falls Barrow, and that could have easily gotten her killed. It had worked out in the end for her, but she wasn’t sure what Jarl Korir would want from her. That the jarl’s guards had insisted she come alone and separated her from her friends didn’t bode well.

The jarl’s longhouse was the largest building in Winterhold, but that wasn’t saying much. If she judged Winterhold by its population, it was huge, easily twice the size of the inn. However, compared to Dragonsreach or the College of Winterhold, it was nothing. Just a two-story log building with a thatch roof. Two fire pits warmed the room, but there were no tables for food. By Nord tradition a longhouse should be more than a throne room. It should be a place where the Jarl held feasts for his favored housecarls, thanes, warriors and attendants. Was the jarl too poor to provide feasts for his men, or did he simply not follow that tradition?

One of the guards kept a watch over her while the other reported to their jarl. The man she saw sitting on the throne didn’t impress her either. Jarl Korir was a red-haired man in the prime of his life. His clothes were finely made, his hair neatly trimmed, and he wore a gold crown with a large red gem in center of it. He had the build of a warrior that had let himself go to seed. A blonde woman stood near him. She was pretty in an austere way. She wore what looked like a leather dress over a cloth dress. It might serve as armor, but it had large openings that left the underdress visible. That greatly weakened the protection the leather offered. On the other hand, the woman was wearing either a shortsword and was standing beside the jarl, so perhaps she was a trusted housecarl.

Eventually, the guard came back and both guards escorted her the short distance to the jarl’s throne. “My Jarl, this is Daenerys Targaryen, a novitiate at the College, and the one called the Dragon Witch.”

Daenerys gave a curtsey out of respect for the man’s position and the power he held over her. Then she rose quietly and waited to see what the jarl wanted from her.

“So, I hear you threatened to burn widow Vigga with your magic. We don’t appreciate your kind making threats in Winterhold.”

“What kind?” asked Daenerys.

“Mages. You have blood on your hands already just joining them. There's nothing left of Winterhold. Nothing! Everyone knows it's the College's fault that the sea swallowed our city. You deny it, but we all know the truth.”

She had heard the people of Winterhold and their jarl were prejudiced against the College, but this was more extreme than she expected. “I’m sorry, but I wasn’t even born then. It was what? Almost eighty years ago?”

“Seventy-nine, but it still matters! Most of the city just dropping off into the sea. That doesn’t just happen.”

Given that Jarl Korir looked to be in his thirties, that was well before he was born. It had to have been his father’s or grandfather’s reign. Daenerys couldn’t help but think the man would be better served tending to his hold and building it up. Instead of actually doing something, he blamed a disaster two generations ago. Did he really expect her to be able to explain the Great Collapse? “Regardless of the cause, I certainly know nothing about it. Is that why I’ve been called before you?”

“Mind your tongue, mage. I’m the jarl of this hold and you will treat me with respect.”

Daenerys did as bid and held her tongue. She was not at all impressed a ruler who blamed others instead of tending to their people, but her saying so would only make things worse.

“Ha, look at that Thaena, a mage that knows how to mind her tongue.”

The blonde woman smiled. “It certainly is a novelty.”

Jarl Korir pointed a finger at Daenerys. “Mage, you’ve been called here before me on account of two things. First, you threatened to kill Widow Vigga. Second, you have been summoning dragons to kill people and ravage caravans.”

Daenerys felt outraged at that accusation. He didn’t even crouch it as a rumor. Did he really believe she could summon dragons? If he did, then he was a fool to threaten her like this. He stared at her like he expected an answer, but he hadn’t asked a question, and he had just commanded her to hold her tongue. So, she kept her mouth closed and her eyes down. She didn’t want him to see the anger in them.

“Well, speak up!”

“As to the first matter, I was sitting in the Frozen Hearth enjoying a glass of wine when Vigga came up.” She kept her words slow, calm and measured. “She started yelling at me, and then she attacked me from behind. She came at me with fists, and I defended with mine. Then she picked up a dagger. That’s when I warned her to back off.”

“You mean that’s when you threatened to burn her where she stood.”

“She came at me with a knife in hand, and yet I still showed restraint. I could have lit her on fire easily. Instead, I just made a small blaze of fire and warned her off.”

“Seems to me that Vigga had just cause. You were also waving around flames in the Frozen Hearth. Maybe it has escaped your notice, but that tavern is made of wood.”

“I had the fire under control, Jarl Korir.” While being inside a wooden building had played a part in her not casting Flames, Daenerys had also simply not wanted to kill a drunken widow. Even if the confrontation had happened outside, she wouldn’t have just set the woman on fire.

“Feh, I have heard that before from mages. You play with forces you don’t understand, but always say you have it under control. Then when it inevitably goes wrong you claim not to be responsible, because it was an accident. Like dead men and shattered lives can just be put back together. Tell me, mage, can your magic give Vigga back her husband?”

“No, Jarl Korir, it cannot. No magic can raise the dead.” At least not here in Tamriel. Back on Planetos, the Red Temple did exactly that, but only when it suited their goals.

“That’s right. Dead is dead. Now, how many good men and women did your dragon kill when it attacked that caravan?”

“It wasn’t my dragon, I had no control over it, and I have no idea how many people died. We all scattered to try to escape.”

“Yes, just like a mage to summon something you couldn’t control. I’ll tell you how many people died. Twenty-seven died. Twenty-seven men, women, and children. What do you have to say about that?”

“I’m sorry for their loss, but it wasn’t any of my doing. I am but a novitiate at the College. I don’t have that kind of power. I don’t think any mage can summon or control dragons.”

“You’re sorry for their loss,” chanted the jarl in a childish sing-song. “Your caravan just happened to be attacked by not one, but two dragons, and you knew a suspicious amount about them, but oh, no, it’s not _your_ fault.”

Daenerys started to deny things further, but it was clear that her words were not being heard. She held her tongue and was thankful that rumor hadn’t also tied her to the dragon attack at Helgen.

“Funny, how you mages know so much, but never have anything to say about what is important. Tell me about your lover, Sagyval. I would very much like to have a word with him.”

What? “Sagyval and I were never lovers. He flirted with me some, that’s all. I was surprised he made a profit. He lost everything on his wagon.”

“You _were_ surprised, but you’re not, so you’ve been in communication with him, eh. Where is he? I’d love to have a few words with him.”

“I don’t know.” While that much was true, she was very glad she’d left the letter at the college and hadn’t mentioned Sagyval to anyone but Brelyna. “I haven’t seen him since the day of the dragon attack. I’ve been studying magic at the College since then.”

“You don’t know? Eight men rode out with him. Sagyval came back with only two, sold a cartload of goods, and then disappeared before my men caught wind of what happened. I sent out a patrol and they found the remains of the caravan picked clean. What happened to the four men who rode out with him? What happened to all the supplies?”

“I don’t know.” But, it was clear that Sagyval had lied to her.

The blonde woman, Thaena, reached out and seized the Jarl’s arm. “You know what I think, my husband? I think she called down the dragons to kill everyone, then sent her lover to pick over the bones. Listen to her. It’s the same as always with mages. It’s never their fault. They just don’t know what happened. It’s a mystery how the city was destroyed and yet the College remained. A dragon attacked, yet she and her lover survived when so many died, oh what a tragic coincidence. My dear, we need to put her to the question.”

Daenerys kept her back straight and head bowed although it got difficult when the pretty blonde started talking about torture. She dared not show anger. She had no idea what Sagyval had been hiding, but he had dumped her into a mess. She was no longer the Dragon Queen with Drogon at her beck and call. She wasn’t without hope. Her friends had seen her taken. The College wouldn’t stand for Winterhold to start kidnapping students in the streets. At least she hoped they wouldn’t. She held onto hope and her temper.

Jarl Korir drummed his fingers on the arm of his throne. “No, putting her to the question is a bit much, not without at least some proof. However, it is high past time we start holding the damned mages accountable. They live in my hold! They can’t just strut around my city as if they own it. They cannot threaten the good people of my hold with magic. She’s guilty of that much at least, even if we can’t prove that she called the dragons.”

He stood up. “Guards! Throw her in the Chill!”


	15. Chapter 14

#  Chapter 14

Sundas, the 30th of Sun's Dusk, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Jarl Korir stood up. “Guards! Throw her in the Chill!”

Daenerys stood close enough to him that she could kill him easily. Step forward, say one Word, and he would die… Then his guards would stab her in the back. She couldn’t fight an entire hold, so she didn’t try. This wasn’t the time or place to fight. So, she bided her time and offered no resistance when the same two guards who brought her before Jarl Korir escorted her away. Outside a small crowd of onlookers had gathered around. Her friends were there, but she didn’t have time to do more than shoot a pleading glance their way as she was led away.

The crowd was hostile by the snatches of conversation she heard.

“So, she was the Dragon Witch after all then?”

“About time one of those mages got what was coming to them.”

“Fool! Three of them are standing right there.”

“I don’t know. Vigga started it. She just defended herself.”

“With fire!”

“Look out!”

Daenerys turned to look about, but one of the guards had her by the arm forcing her to keep moving forward. She saw a few kids running along with snowballs, or more like slushballs, considering the weather was still a mix of rain, sleet, and ice. Several of them missed her, but one flew true and hit her in the side.

However, another hit the guard beside her. “Hey, you brats. You want to join her in the Chill?”

The words ‘the Chill,’ roused the crowd up. One of them started a chant, which others picked up. “Put her in the Chill. Put her in the Chill. Put her in the Chill.” The words followed after them as the guards led her out of town.

At her best guess, the Chill was this town’s jail. Although she had never heard of it before. Not at all where she wanted to be going, but she didn’t have a choice, or at least not any good choices. One quick step to the side and she could catch both guards in **Yol** and kill them. That would make her an outlaw. If she could just make a break for it and run for the College, she was almost certain the College wouldn’t turn her over. However, if she killed two of the Whitehold guards, they would probably hand her over to face the Jarl’s justice.

She was sorely tempted when then guards led her north toward the College. It would be so easy. Shout **Yol** and then run for it. However, the two guards were being particularly watchful as they passed by the College. Besides these guards were just doing their duty. She had no real desire to kill them in cold blood. No, her best bet was to be patient. The College would most likely apply pressure on Jarl Korir to have her released. She just had to endure the hardship of a few days of imprisonment in the Chill.

Once they were past the bridge the path started to drop down rapidly. There were clear signs that this trail was in regular use. There were even guard rails in places, but it wasn’t an easy descent. Eventually, the winding path reached the sea below Winterhold. Somewhere down here was the fishing village. Although she didn’t see anything but rocks and cliffs. Looking back up when she reached the bottom it was even more obvious how remarkable it was that the College of Winterhold had survived the Great Collapse. It stood on a pillar of stone barely wider than the College. She could see just how unsupported the bridge actually was, and yet it still stood. Obviously magic had protected the College. She wondered if they had cast spells during the Great Collapse to stabilize the college, or if it was still protected by being built upon a foundation of magic laid down by Arch-Mage Shalidor back in the First era.

The guards led her around the narrow rocky beach that surrounded the mount upon which Winterhold perched. There were signs of foot traffic through here. However, this beach was certainly underwater during storms, and possible during high tide as well. They circled around to the north shore ‘behind’ the College. A shallow stretch of sea clogged with floating ice separated the College island from another larger island that didn’t rise very far above sea level. This was the fishing village she had heard tell of. There were no docks. Longships and rowboats were merely beached well above the driftwood and moored tight. The whole island looked weatherbeaten. Here dwelled the fishermen and horker hunters of Winterhold, proud but poor.

Her guards marched her right into the narrow channel. She gasped as the freezing water sent pins and needles up her legs immediately. The water only reached their thighs, but it came up to her waist. They walked on up the other side, seemingly unconcerned while she could barely feel her legs and stumbled along after up onto the island. Hardscrabble homes nestled up against the rocks. They were built of rock and shattered masonry. Their thatched roofs looked wrong, piled too high and sloughing off the edges, almost like some sort fungus growing on the houses. It wasn’t until they passed close to one that she realized that it was thatched with seaweed instead of good straw. There were people about. They scowled at the intruders with sullen and distrustful faces. Others closed their shutters or pointedly ignored the presence of outsiders on their land.

The feeling in her feet was starting to return when they suddenly stopped before a house that looked much like any other in this miserable village. Perhaps a little bit larger. The guard who seemed to be in charge stepped up and banged on the door. Dogs started barking. Big ones from the sound of it. The guard who knocked hastily retreated backwards. “Hail the house. Warden Naudgari? It’s Stefan. I’ve come on the orders of Jarl Korir. I’ve got a prisoner for the Chill.”

The dogs continued barking for a while and then a window opened a bit, not far enough for her to see inside. “You say you’re Stefan. Show me your face. And who’s that with you?”

“Paranoid old fart,” muttered the one who had named himself Stefan. He removed his helmet and revealed a middle-aged man with dirty blonde hair to match the beard she’d already glimpsed. “That good enough? This here is my son.”

“He needs to take his helmet off, too.”

The guard holding her briefly let go and theatrically doffed his helmet. “Behold, it is I, Jaako!” He was a good bit younger, barely more than a lad, but he already had a full beard and there was a bit of a family resemblance to Stefan. Daenerys considered running since she was technically free, but she didn’t exactly have anywhere to run to. She was on an island. Wading back through that channel would slow her down enough that they could easily catch her.

“Good enough,” called the gruff voice. A gray-haired man with a matted beard came out. His skin was wrinkled and worn like old leather. He had a cocked crossbow in his hands. Two dark gray dogs came out with him. They were large and both rumbled with low warning growls, but they held their place. “Stefan, you fool. Have you forgotten everything I taught you? Why isn’t she bound? You aren’t even holding her.”

Stefan glanced over and saw she was just standing there. He slapped Jaako across the head. “Damn it, Jaako.”

“Da!” he complained dodging away.

The old man laughed. In any other circumstances, Daenerys might have found it humorous as well. Out in the cold, still soaking wet, and heading toward a place called the Chill she didn’t find it amusing.

“You blame your boy, but you should know better,” scolded Naudgari.

“I had reasons, Warden, and she’s been well-behaved,” said Stefan. He pointed a finger at her. “Don’t make a liar out of me. I didn’t have any rope, and we were drawing an ugly crowd. I also knew you would have manacles.”

“Yeah, I got some. She’s a pretty one.” He looked at her like men like at whores, sizing her up. “I rather like the feisty ones. Stay here, while I go get some.”

Daenerys cleared her throat. “That’s not necessary. Let me be and I’ll come along quietly. I think we all know that this won’t last that long once the College gets involved.” If they thought her meek and left her unbound, all the better.

“She’s a god’s damned mage?!” screamed the old man. “Stefan, have you lost all sense? She should be manacled tight with her hands behind her back.”

“She-” stared Stefan. Then he sighed. “You’re right. Turn around mage and put your hands behind you.”

Daenerys frowned. Open with **Yol** and she could take both the guards. Then the old man would shoot her with the crossbow and the two dogs would tear her apart. She stared at Stefan. She had commanded Dothraki. He didn’t scare her. “I will not forget this, Stefan of Winterhold.”

They bound her in manacles and then started loading a boat with supplies from the old man’s place. From what she could gather from their conversation, the old man was in charge of all prisoners and the Chill was on an island not too far north from here. For a while Daenerys simply glared at them. She didn’t like the way the old man looked at her, and the other two seemed shiftier now. However, glaring at them didn’t accomplish anything. After a short while she decided she might as well put the anger inside her to use. She was sitting on the cold beach up against the house where they couldn’t see her hands. She wasn’t going anywhere. She might as well practice Frost. As cold as it was out here, they’d never notice her hands getting a tiny bit colder.

She started by gathered her Will. She knew how to touch the power of magic all around her. She gathered in her magicka, concentrated it, prepared it. She defined her Focus, the outcome she wanted. Cold, bitter freezing cold, like this cold wet day. She was wet and cold, her leggings soaked and water inside her collar. The wind wicked the water from her face, freezing her lips. Cold. Ice. Frost.

Then she bridged her power to what she wanted with anger so cold it burned. This was so blatantly unfair. She was a queen! Jarl Korir should be kneeling before her! She had only defended herself! She had followed all their gods-damned Nord customs. She’d fought with her fists with a common drunkard. They blamed her because she could do what they could do not. They were stupid. Willfully ignorant. Judgmental. Nords!

Suddenly her magicka broke free inside of her and her anger lashed out, not in a feeble trickle, but in a powerful howl of icy wind jetting from her hands, striking the house behind her. She could hear the snap of ice and feel the cold through her enchanted leathers. There was nowhere for the cold to go so it reflected back biting her in her own ass. Hastily she cut it off.

The dogs started barking wildly. “She’s trying to escape!” screamed Naudgari.

“I’m not!” She felt like laughing. She’d done it. She’d finally managed to cast magic using a Seeming! This had been a totally crap day, but she had done it! The entire world of magic was open to her.

Then Naudgari kicked her in the head and knocked her down. The other two guards joined him and the three of them continued kicking her until she passed out.

.oOo.

She had no idea how long she was unconscious. She doubted it had been long. She was bruised and sore and laying in what was obviously a boat from the rocking motion. She hurt everywhere. If she hadn’t been wearing leather armor, she would probably be dead. He left eye was nearly swollen shut, and something was very wrong with her wrist. Slowly she leveraged herself up and looked around with her one good eye. The boat was bigger than a rowboat, but smaller than a ship. She thought that made it a skiff. It had a mast, but the sail wasn’t up. Instead, Stefan and Jaako sat up front, facing backwards, and rowing. They were moving together in unison; they obviously had a lot of practice at this. For a moment she wondered why they were rowing instead of using the sail. Then she realized they were sailing directly into the wind. The old bastard was sitting behind her at the tiller, and he had brought both his dogs with him. They sat at his feet totally at ease in the rocking boat and sea spray. Naudgari smiled at her revealing crooked teeth when he saw she was awake.

That had been stupid. No, she had been stupid. She had thought that if she cast anything it would have been just a trickle of Frost. She hadn’t expected that her first attempt would be so successful. Apparently being unjustly arrested in freezing weather was a good way to learn the Frost spell. Which led to the obvious way to escape her pain. Healing oneself was supposed to be the easiest form of healing. The College didn’t teach Restoration that way, because they didn’t want students beating each other up. Still, if she could cast Frost, she could cast Healing, couldn’t she? Wanting the pain to stop was supposed to be an easy Seeming. Not that it would do much good if they beat her up again.

“I want to heal myself.” The words came out as dry whisper. She took a breath and said it louder. “I want to heal myself!”

Naudgari laughed derisively. “Why would we let you do that?”

Stefan stopped pulling on his oar and lay on the oar. “You know you can be an elk’s ass sometimes, Naudgari. Let her heal herself if she can. We’ll all watch her. Where exactly is she going to go? Besides… don’t you want her a little more lively for later?”

“Nah, I don’t find it matters as much as it used to when I was younger. She can lie there for all I care. Although, I suppose you and Jaako might want her to have a little wiggle in her.”

Oh gods, no! They were going to rape her! Her mind flashed back to the women she had seen the Dothraki rape. The rapes she couldn’t stop. The ones she had tried to stop. NO! Not her. No. **Yol** stirred inside her, eager to be spoken. It would destroy the boat, but she’d at least take them all with her.

“I… I…” stuttered Jaako almost dropping his oar. “I guess. I mean she was pretty before, but now she’s kinda ugly. She doesn’t have to suffer… as long as she behaves.” Jaako frowned at her.

“You understand, mage?” asked Stefan. “If you promise to behave, we’ll let you heal yourself. There really is no point in fighting it. It doesn’t have to hurt. You might even like it.”

Monsters. They were monsters in the shape of men, and she had meekly put herself in their grasp instead of trying to escape when she had the chance. She had been a fool, but she wasn’t going to be a fool now. “Yes,” she rasped. “I understand. I’ll be good,” she lied.

“Feh,” snarled the old bastard. “It’s not needed. There are lots of ways to make prisoners cooperative, but I guess we’re doing this. Fine. Secure those oars and draw your blades. If she tries anything, we gut her.”

“I won’t,” promised Daenerys. If they let her heal herself, she would have a better chance when it came time to fight. If she even _could_ heal herself. She had never done it before. No. There was no if. They might not give her another chance. She would do it, because she must do it. She took that determination and gathered in her power, her magic, gathered it tight, and held it ready. The focus was easier than it had ever been for Restoration. She focused on herself. The Seeming was easy. The simple wish for surcease, for the pain to go away, but it wasn’t bridging. What if she couldn’t? No. Not fear. She focused on the pain and the simple want for it to end. Magic flowed, pure soothing magic, filling her, flooding her. It was warm and soothing and washing away the hurt in her wrist, the swelling in her eye, the coldness in her fingers and toes, her ears and nose. She kept channeling until her magicka drained dry and then she collapsed into the bottom of the boat.

“Thank you,” she said looking at Stefan. He was the only one who even seemed to care a little. She wouldn’t spare him, but she would try to make his death fast.

.oOo.

It wasn’t much farther to their destination. The Chill wasn’t that impressive, just a small outcropping of rock surrounded by an icy beach of rocks with a cleft leading into a cave. This was it. The end of the line. That was a good thing. While the healing had banished the cold for a while, the wet and the temperature had her shivering again. Better to have the fight now while she still could move. It was also a bad thing, because her time had run out. She had to fight three grown warriors backed up by two large dogs and do so with her hands chained behind her back. She could kill two of them with **Yol** if she judged her distances right. She would have to be lucky to get all three in one Shout. Even if she did, the dogs would likely kill her. Maybe if she pretended to go along with them for a little bit, they would unchain her. That would increase the chance she would live through this, but she doubted the old bastard would be that trusting. No, most likely she was going to die in the next few minutes. Here ends the story of Daenerys Targaryen. She was determined to take them with her.

“Come on,” said Naudgari. “Let’s get the supplies put away. Then we can slip into something warm.” He laughed and stared at her as he did it.

“Why do you have to be an elk’s ass about it, Naudgari?” asked Stefan.

“Cause it keeps me warm in winter. Why shouldn’t I be? What’s got a stick up your ass Stefan? This isn’t your first time keeping warm at the Chill. It’s a bitter boring post. A man’s got to do something to pass the time. You’ve always been eager before, and we usually have to make do with men. Don’t tell me you actually prefer men.”

“No!” denied Stefan hotly, then he sighed. “This one is innocent. It’s one thing when they’re guilty. That’s just part of the punishment, but this one… She didn’t really do anything wrong. Vigga came at her with a knife. She just defended herself, and she didn’t even burn Vigga. She just warned her off.”

“Horker shit!” the warden snarled. “She’s a gods-damned mage. There are no innocent mages. You’re just soft on her cause she’s a looker. You want the truth? There’s no such thing as innocent. There is just the weak and the strong. The strong crush the weak. She pissed off the jarl, and she gets a lesson. We’re the lucky bastards who get to teach it to her. I only wish I was younger to enjoy it more. Been ages since I had a pretty girl.”

Jaako was just listening to this conversation with wide eyes. “Innocent? But what about the dragon?”

Naudgari laughed. “Damn, you’re a gullible kid. If that girl could call down dragons, don’t you think she would have done it by now?”

Daenerys tried to locate something, anything, during the distraction that would improve her odds, but they were standing outside a rocky cave. There was nothing, and the three of them weren’t standing close enough together anyway.

Their conversation drew to a close, and they started unloading. Daenerys watched hopelessly feeling her time tick down. However, what she saw when they finally brought her inside the cave gave her hope. Cages! There were three large cages with bedrolls inside them. Two of them had their doors hanging open. There were also some crow’s cages hanging from the ceiling, but that was unimportant. The two cages with open doors meant she might live. If she could get Naudgari and his crossbow, the other two only had swords. She could hide in a cage and lob firebolts at them and the dogs. She had a chance now.

She watched the men looking for an opportunity, but they weren’t giving it to her. Stefan looked resigned. Jaako was nervous. Naudgari gloated. All too soon they had the supplies stored away.

“Well it’s time,” said Naudgari drawing a dagger and approaching her. “You know if you act up, I slit your throat. Killed trying to escape. I see those wheels turning in that pretty head of yours, but there is no way out of this. This is the lesson girl. Don’t piss off the jarl, or you get screwed.” He turned to face Jaako. “I think the kid should have first go. You ever had a girl before?”

“Ye-Ye-Yes,” stuttered Jaako.

This time they were standing close together, and for just a moment they were all distracted. Jaako in embarrassment. Naudgari gloating over Jaako. Stefan had also paused to stare at his son. In that moment she stepped forward and all three of them were right there in her face.

“ **Yol**!” The Word burst from her throat and exploded in a wave of fire that impacted all three of them. Their bodies tumbled and rolled burning and slammed into the wall of the cave. The dogs yelped and ran about in fear. Daenerys hadn’t expected the dogs to react with fear, but she didn’t waste time. She ran for one of the cages and awkwardly pulled the door closed with her foot leaving a small gap.

Now that she was safe, she studied the three bodies. One of them moved a little, but then it stopped. Good. They were dead and her chance of living through this was quite good now. Although her hands were still bound behind her. Working quickly, she slipped the manacles down past her ass and then under her legs to in front of her. She managed to get her hands in front of her just as one of the dogs started advancing on her cage barking. She got up and shot fire through the bars. The dog backed off quickly and kept its distance.

After snarling at her for a while, the two dogs went over to the bodies. They started nuzzling their dead owner and whining. Daenerys felt a little sorry for the dogs, but as she continued to watch, they started to lick at the corpses. Which then, to her horror, became biting and feeding. That killed any sympathy she’d felt. She cautiously tried to pull the door open, but it was rusty, and it creaked loudly. The two canines looked up with teeth covered in blood. They snarled at her not moving from where they stood.

“Yeah! Come on then. Come on! Come and get me!”

They growled at her a bit, deep throaty rumbles of warning. She stood there waiting to see if they would charge, but one of the dogs returned to feeding, and the other followed.

“All right then.” Daenerys felt good enough to Shout again, so she let them feed. Dogs would stay near their food. She nudged the door open and rushed toward them. “ **Yol**!”

The wave of fire sent one of the dogs flying and burning, but the other had skidded and rolled. It was burnt and battered but still alive. Daenerys rushed and cast Flames at it, channeling all her energy into it until she was drained. The dog no longer moved.

In the end it was just her and five corpses: three human and two canine. She collapsed to her knees in the wreckage and wept.


	16. Chapter 15

# Chapter 15

Morndas, the 1st of Evening Star, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys woke from dreams of fire and screams to freezing darkness and the smell of a charnel house. As soon as she woke the memories came flooding back to her. She felt like breaking down and crying again, but more importantly, she was freezing to death. She was shaking from the cold. Warmth had to come first. She pushed herself to her feet. She needed to find the wood and build a fire, but she couldn’t see hardly anything. Candlelight. She had already managed two spells with a Seeming. She held out her hand and tried to focus on endless possibilities, but it was no good. She couldn’t make herself believe that anything was possible. All she felt was the harsh cold grip of reality. Instead, she focused on anger and that was easy to do. Anger at the three men who had planned to rape her. Anger for the coward of a jarl who had sent her here to be raped.

Flames erupted from her hand, she eased it back to a mere trickle and looked about. There was a stack of firewood up against one wall. She gathered two logs, tossed them into the firepit and lit them on fire. That provided enough light to see by. She fetched more and wood and built up the fire. She wasn’t staying in this damned frozen prison any longer than she must. She didn’t need to make the wood last, and she desperately needed to get warm. Once the fire got good and going, she searched the bodies for the keys and removed her manacles. Then, she stripped naked, lay her clothes in a circle around the fire, and walked into the flames. She stood over the burning logs and soaked in the heat of the fire. She had always found heat to be soothing. The hotter, the better. Bathing in the flames did more than just chase away the cold. It felt like it burned away her pain.

At least it did until the smell of smoke and the sound of the crackling logs began to remind her of the burning of King’s Landing. She stepped out of the fire and quickly got dressed. She felt human again, but the memories of the recent past still threatened to overwhelm her. She’d killed those guards, and she didn’t regret it one bit. They had deserved it, but it was hard to feel righteous now staring at their burnt bodies. Maybe she deserved to die for her crimes every bit as much as they did, but she wasn’t going to just lay down in the cold and give up. Even if she did deserve it, she wasn’t going to give up. Not now, not ever. There had to be a reason she was here in Skyrim. There had to be a reason she was given a second chance. 

She found a lantern and went outside. It was pitch dark outside. The sky must have been overcast because it was black on black outside the small circle of light from the lantern’s glow. She might have dropped off the world out here. Nothing but ice and darkness. North of Winterhold. She might as well have been in hell. Were the gods passing judgement upon her? If so, they had a sick sense of humor.

However, there was a boat. She inspected it and it had a sail. That was good. She doubted she could manage the oars. The wind was always the same for the past few weeks, cold and from the north. She knew little of sailing, but if she hoisted the sail, then the prevailing winds should blow the skiff south. Eventually, she would get to the mainland. Then what?

She went inside, tossed another log on the fire, and sat down to plan. She was an outlaw now, or at least she would be as soon as word got out. How long would that take? Were all three men supposed to stay and guard her? That didn’t seem likely given the cages. Most likely the warden, Naudgari, would have stayed, but the other two had planned to sail back. Did it matter? She wasn’t staying around. She would leave at dawn.

But where? She should be able to find her way back to civilization from here. They had been going more or less north from Winterhold when she had been conscious, but she had been knocked out part of the time. Still, if she headed south, she couldn’t miss the mainland. However, the only landmark she might recognize from the sea was the College of Winterhold. Tamriel was a big continent. She could easily miss the College. More importantly, did she even want to return even if she could find it?

If she went west, eventually she’d get to Solitude. If she went south along the coast, she’d reach the White River and could follow it upstream to Windhelm. She remembered that much. However, it was also foolishness. She knew nothing of sailing. There is no way she would reach another city by boat. She could probably reach the mainland, but sailing over that long a distance on the Sea of Ghosts? She’d run aground, or flounder, or just tip over, and then she would drown. Trying to walk to one of those holds along the coast in winter would be just as suicidal. It would take weeks. She would die of starvation or exposure in the wilderness on her own, and that assumed she didn’t run into wolves, trolls or worse along the way. No, Winterhold was the only sane choice.

So, Winterhold it had to be. Finding it would be the hard part. Sneaking into the College would be easy. Jarl Korir couldn’t know that she had killed his men yet. He wouldn’t be having the seas watched. Besides, there were dozens of fishermen and horker hunters who called that fishing village home. She could probably sail right up to Winterhold unchallenged. If she avoided the island with the fishing village and instead landed beneath the bridge to the college, then she could come up that little trail and arrive right at the bridge to the College. It could work.

Then it would be up to Archmage Savos on whether to give her sanctuary or turn her over to the jarl. That was a political question. Things were already tense between the College and the town. Would he sacrifice her for peace? Or would he be willing to face the possibility of… war? Wouldn’t that be what it would basically be? She didn’t know how he would jump, but she had no other real alternatives. Faralda would back her. Her friends would as well. With at least one of the faculty on her side, it would be difficult for him to just hand her over. At least she hoped so.

.oOo.

While there were a few bedrolls, Daenerys didn’t feel at all tempted by the idea of sleep. What had happened at this place had dredged up all the ghosts of her past. Even if she somehow managed to sleep, she would only be tormented by nightmares. Instead she used the time to load the boat up with supplies. While she hoped to sail straight back to Winterhold, she knew that trusting the wind to take her straight back was foolish. If she drifted off course, she might need both food and firewood to survive. It was a long slow process. Holding a lantern in one hand left her one free hand for carrying needed supplies. So, she carried load after load from the prison cave, out through the cold darkness, and stowed her supplies in the boat. Sometimes she stopped to warm herself by the fire.

The tedious task of loading gave her too much time to think. She had been a fool. That much was clear. She had expected to be treated with honor, courtesy, and respect. She had believed that despite Jarl Korir’s obvious antipathy for mages. She had dealt with loud and opiniated bigots before. When had they ever treated her fairly? Hadn’t she learned her lesson in Meereen? Time and again she had tried to make peace with the former masters, which had only led to more deaths. She had tried to follow their customs, and they killed and killed, innocents and her Unsullied alike. It had ended in flame and death, as it always seemed to do.

That led inevitably back to her burning of King’s Landing. It was so easy to sink into a cycle of guilt, recrimination, and despair over her callous murder of so many people. Why had she done it? Everything had gone so wrong once she set sail for Westeros. The easy war that everyone had promised her was anything but easy. It only got worse when she went north. She followed her heart to save Jon Snow and it cost her Viserion. Cersei betrayed them and sat out of the war. She had put her Unsullied and Dothraki on the line to fight the Night King. Her armies outnumbered all the Westerosi. She had thought that she would be the one to kill the Night King. The High Priestess of the Red Temple, Kinavara had proclaimed her as the one who was promised. Bran said that dragonfire had never been tried, and the Night King was a being of ice. Surely slaying the Night King would have earned the love of the Westerosi.

However, it had been Arya Stark, not her that killed the Night King. Everything just kept getting worse and worse instead of better. Jorah dead. The feckless Northerners and Sansa the bitch acted like it was their victory alone. Rhaegal lost for nothing. Missandei. She missed her so much still…

The closer to when she died the harder it was looking back to understand why. Jon Snow had turned from her. Varys had betrayed her, but why had it been necessary to burn a city? They hadn’t submitted. She had thought it was necessary to make an example but… why? Why? WHY?! She had pledged herself to break the wheel. How had that justified slaughtering so many? Destroy the gates – yes. Send in her armies – yes. Destroy the Red Keep, that would have made sense. Cersei never surrendered, but burning the city? It had been madness.

A pale pink glow started to appear on the horizon. Dawn was here. Not enough to see yet, she still had to get the boat into the water. She pushed down her pointless recriminations. They never solved anything. Some power had seen fit to give her a second chance. She needed to live this life. If there was a reason, then maybe she could balance the bloody scales. It was a forlorn hope.

Enough! No more wallowing in the past. Put it aside. She had to get off this island, or she would die here.

.oOo.

Getting the boat into the water proved to be more difficult than she thought. Only when she tried to move it did she realize that the Stefan and Jaako had unloaded the boat _before_ they pulled it out of the water. She couldn’t even get it to budge by pushing on it. However, her Shove spell moved it forward a little bit. Instead of unloading and reloading, she instead cast and recast her Shove spell. With each casting the boat moved inch by inch toward the water. Finally, it slid into the water and started to drift away. She hastily climbed in and set sail. Hoisting the sail wasn’t too difficult. Pull the rope and up the sail went. Holding the rope taut and tying it down so the sail didn’t fall back down was a challenge. She didn’t get it perfect. The sail was only mostly up, but that was as good as it was going to get. All that mattered to her was that it worked. The wind pushed the sail which pushed the boat, and she was moving.

She was cautious about using the rudder, but the sea wasn’t empty. It was full of big chunks of ice that she had to steer around. It also wasn’t flat which made avoiding those chunks of ice difficult. Mostly she tried to just point the boat in the direction the wind was blowing, but some of those icebergs were bigger than the boat. She couldn’t relax for more than a moment. After a while she felt like she was getting the hang of sailing.

Maybe she didn’t have to go back to the College. Sailing wasn’t too difficult. She could just continue either south along the coast until she reached the White River, or head west to Solitude. She really didn’t want to put her life in the archmage’s hands unless she had to. He might just turn her over to Jarl Korir. She had killed three of his guards. It was only her word that they had tried to rape her. She hoped the archmage would defy the jarl to protect her, but there was no guarantee.

A hard thump against the hull of her skiff from a large chunk of ice jolted her out of her reverie. She needed to focus. There was a bit of land off to her left, or was that port since she was on a boat? It was too low to be the cliffs of the mainland. Was that the island of the fishing village? Or had she been blown off course? She turned the boat toward the land to bring her closer, but steering was getting harder. Instead of a steady breeze, the wind was gusting now. However, as she approached the bit of land, she saw other boats on the sea around it. That was probably the fishing island. She stopped trying to get closer to the island and just sailed with the wind.

As she expected, land soon appeared on the horizon before her and slowly resolved into a cliff face. This was about as good as she could have hoped. She could just keep going and she should reach the beach at the base of the cliffs west of Winterhold. Or she could turn west and follow the coast until she reached Solitude. Regardless, there was another low-lying island or maybe iceberg in her path. She turned to get around it, but her little boat started rolling in the waves. She was going sideways along them now, not with them. She leaned harder on the rudder.

One moment she was trying to turn. Then next the boat pitched wildly and suddenly she was in the ocean with the boat above her. She started swimming desperately. The ocean was as cold as it was wet. She started kicking with all her might immediately making for the island. It had been a short distance for her skiff, but it was a long swim. The freezing sea felt like it was cutting her with knives, but she kept kicking. When her body started to falter, she cast Healing in desperation. Warmth flowed into her and the numbness was pushed back and rewarded her with the pain of icy knives again. However, it helped a little, enough to keep going just a bit longer. She had to cast the spell twice more to reach the shore, and a third time after she pulled herself out of the water onto the rocky shoreline.

She wanted to lay down and rest, but she was soaking wet. She knew that if she stopped moving, she would freeze to death in minutes. She forced herself to walk. The island she’d landed on wasn’t very big and it was cut off from the mainland by a narrow channel. She cursed the gods. She wasn’t a gods-damn Nord. She hated the cold, but she had no choice , so she waded out into the sea. An undertow almost knocked her off her feet, but she staggered up the beach, healed herself, and kept moving.

After that it was a ‘simple’ matter of heading east along the beach. Her body wanted to stop, but she forced herself to keep going in a slow jog, one step after another. She didn’t even notice that what looked like brown rocks were actually horkers until she was amongst them. When they bellowed and chased her, she found the energy to run until she left them behind. She walked after that. Slowly the College came into sight. She reached the beach below the bridge and took the narrow and winding path up the cliff until she finally reached the top – right by where the bridge to the College started.

Her heart leapt with joy when she saw who was standing watch on the bridge. “Faralda!” Daenerys somehow found the energy to break into a run. She embraced her reserved mentor like a child clinging to their mother.

Surprisingly, Faralda returned the embrace. “I don’t know how you got here, but let’s get you inside.”

.oOo.

An hour or so later after a warm bath and some clean clothes, she felt alive again. Faralda escorted her to the archmage’s sanctum. It was a large and lavishly decorated room taking up the entire top floor of one of the towers. Shelves full of books, alchemical ingredients, soul gems, and other wizardry paraphernalia crowded the walls, but the most interesting thing about it was a large indoor garden containing a riot of exotic plants growing under magical lighting. She got to sip warm mulled wine with a blanket wrapped around her while telling her story to Archmage Savos and Mirabelle. Faralda stood behind her the whole time with one hand resting on her shoulder. 

“… and then I took the path up the cliff from the sea that ends at the bridge. That’s when I saw Faralda, and the rest you know,” concluded Daenerys. While she had glossed over some of the more disturbing details, she had been truthful with one exception. She claimed that she must have somehow cast a Fireball instead of admitting that she Shouted.

“Well, that’s quite a story,” said the archmage. He was a dour Dunmer in his middle years who had listened to Danerys tell her story without much of a reaction.

“It’s intolerable, that’s what it is,” declared Master Wizard Mirabelle. “We’ve had troubles with the jarl for years, but this is not to be born. Detain her for questioning, that’s one thing. There was an altercation. Asking her what she knew about this Sagyvor, fine, but what they intended to do to her! No, we cannot allow our students to be thrown in prison and be violated on such flimsy pretexts.”

Archmage Savos sighed. “What world do you live in? Even if we were under Imperial law, which we aren’t anymore, Jarls can have anyone who isn’t nobly born arrested on the flimsiest of excuses. Nobody takes them to task if they then torture the accused into confessing. Rape is hardly unexpected.” He said the words with the tone of one lecturing a particularly stupid child. “Jarls who abuse their authority used to have to answer to the High King, and indirectly the Emperor. However, Korir supports Ulfric Stormcloak. There is no Imperial law to appeal to any longer. Just Nord custom, which favors the strong over the weak. We should be glad that we have her back in one piece.”

Faralda growled. “One piece? You said the jarl promised you she would be returned within a week – unharmed. You call what they planned for a her a lack of harm?”

“Oh, I’m sure Jarl Korir knew _nothing_ about what his guards had planned,” replied the archmage sarcastically. Ladies, you need to get over this. Three out of twenty of our students die in training. We had a student sacrificed in a dark ritual just a few months ago. Yes, I was aware that she might be raped. With a pretty young girl like her, it was even likely to happen. There are worse fates. By the time I got involved, I believed it likely she had already been raped. I was trying to get her back _alive_ , and without opening active hostilities with Winterhold. If she has the spine to be a mage, she would have survived and recovered. Now there are three dead guards slain by magic. The jarl will believe that I ordered an attack on the Chill to free her. This is only going to escalate further.”

Daenerys felt anger bubbling inside her. There was a part of her that understood the politics of the situation, but she couldn’t stand the cavalier dismissal of her ordeal. Nor was she going to sit here idly and drink her wine while her future was decided. Politics be damned! “You’re not even considering handing hand me back over to them, are you?”

“No,” declared Faralda. “Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt I offer you an apprenticeship under me.”

Daenerys turned in her seat to look up at her mentor. “I accept.” She bowed her head to her newly confirmed mentor. She knew that the apprentice/master relationship gave Faralda a lot of authority over her, but this move was clearly intended to shield her.

“That was unnecessary,” said the arch-mage. “I wouldn’t have handed her over at this point.”

“You have handed over students in the past,” stated Faralda.

“Different circumstances. Our students are sometimes guilty.” He leaned his head forward and pinched the bridge of his nose. Once again, he sighed.

Mirabel cleared her throat. “Archmage, I understand we are in a difficult situation, but if we don’t protect our students, we won’t have any students.”

“I know. I know. It seems I have no choice. She may have sanctuary here,” he agreed as if it cost him gold to say the words. “I won’t give her to Jarl Korir, but I will only protect her for as long as she remains within the walls of the College. If she steps foot into Winterhold again, even with a faculty member escorting her, I wash my hands of her.”

“It won’t be forever,” said Mirabelle kindly. “Once this civil war is resolved, any jarl who rose up against the Empire will be replaced. We can appeal your crimes then.”

Daenerys frowned. That might take years. Surely, there had to be another way. Wait. The archmage had said something about not being nobly born… Could it be that simple? She tossed off the blanket and stood up. “I am Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt. I am of noble birth, and I demand the right of trial by combat.”

For a while everyone was silent. Mirabelle broke it with a whistle. “I didn’t see that coming.”

Archmage Savos shook his head. “Nice try, but I don’t think it would work. If I recall Nord customs correctly, you would be able to claim trial by combat against the charge of murder. Since there are no witnesses and it only your word of honor that they tried to rape you. You could claim that right whether you were noble or not. Which is a good thing, as I have never heard of a House Targaryen. However, the trial by combat would take place under Nord custom, not Imperial law. Using magic would be considered cheating. Unless you have a champion in your pocket to fight for you?”

Faralda gave a short abrupt bark of laughter. “Daenerys, are you sure you want to do this?”

“I’m absolutely certain.” This would work. Jarl Korir could hardly accuse her of cheating when Ulfric Stormcloak himself Shouted in his duel with High King Torygg. More importantly she was sick and tired of hiding. Too many people already knew she could Shout anyway. Undoubtably there would be consequences. However, trying to be a good little outlander had almost gotten her raped. She had been a queen. Kingdoms had trembled before her. She was done with hiding!

Faralda smiled. “Don’t worry, Archmage. If she duels, she will win, and she will do it without breaking Nord customs.”

“Humph. Well, win or lose it will certainly solve the problem. On your head be it. I’ll open negotiations with Jarl Korir. It will take a least a few days, perhaps as much as two weeks. He will want to bluster and demand I hand you over first. He will also accuse us of wanting to use magic to cheat. However, I predict he’ll agree to trial by combat in the end.”

“Can you push to have the duel take place on the bridge?” It would be a logical middle ground between the city and the College. Also, it would be a huge advantage for her. Even if her opponent wore heavy armor, and her Shout wasn’t immediately lethal, either **Yol** or **Fus** would knock the Jarl’s champion off the bridge.

The archmage stroked his beard. “Yes, that could probably be arranged. I might even be able to get the Jarl to suggest it himself as ‘neutral’ ground.”

Of course, that wasn’t the end of the discussion. She was questioned about what lands House Targaryen ruled. She invoked the College custom of leaving her past behind. The Archmage also declared that he was closing the gates. No more visits to Winterhold at all until this matter was resolved without either the approval of either himself or Mirabelle. A short while after, she started to fall asleep, and she was released to get some rest.


	17. Chapter 16

# Chapter 16

Tirdas, the 2nd of Evening Star, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Life went on; that was a lesson Daenerys had learned already. The wheel turned. You either kept pace or were ground beneath it. The bastards who had tried to rape her were dead. She wasn’t like Vigga or Jarl Korir, always dwelling on the wrongs of the past. She moved forward.

She told Brelyna almost everything, even more than she had told the arch-mage, Mirabelle, and Faralda. She only held back that she Shouted. She poured out the details, the words they had spoken, and the cruel way they planned her rape. In the retelling, what bothered her the most was what a fool she had been. She had gone along with being imprisoned so meekly. She should have known better. She had dealt with the likes of Cersei Lannister and the masters of Meereen. Why had she expected to be imprisoned with respect, like a noblewoman? Korir had made has lack of respect for mages very clear.

“You couldn’t have known,” consoled Brelyna. “You hear of that happening in prison, but only in places like the Cidhna Mines where they put away people to forget about them. At worst you were guilty of making threats and dueling inside the city. Nords do that all the time. Usually, you are released after a few days being locked up for such things. I was worried for you, but not as worried as I should have been. I was afriad you would be starved, beaten, or left in an unheated cell. I’m sorry, I didn’t know that your danger was that grave.”

For a Dunmer that was a downright optimistic view of the world. “I think it happens more than you believe. Men think with their cocks at the best of times. Most men will force a woman if they think they can get away with it. I’ve seen it happen before during war and wherever slavery is legal. That doesn’t make it right.”

Brelyna’s eyes got wide. “Where have you been that slavery is legal? Since Helseth Hlaalu outlawed slavery in Morrowind it has been illegal everywhere in the Empire.”

Daenerys started to give her usual line, ‘I prefer not to talk about it,’ but Brelyna deserved better. Brelyna had become too close to her to simply brush off like that. “Maybe I’ll tell you someday, Brelyna, but not today.”

Brelyna nodded. “I have my own secrets, that I may share someday as well.” She paused for a moment brow creased in thought. “Not today. There is a time and a place for secrets. Still, they were warriors in the service of the jarl. They should have upheld the law, not broken it. They should be better than that.”

“They should have, but they didn’t. Whoever is on top always takes and hurts those on the bottom. Sometimes the wheel turns. The one on top falls, another rises, but still those on bottom suffer.” For a moment the memory of the burning of King’s Landing returned. Instead of breaking the wheel, she had become the wheel herself. She shook her head and sighed. “You’re right. The guards should have been better. People should be better. It’s a cruel world. Not that excuses the cruelty. I’m glad those bastards are dead. I hope they all suffer in Oblivion. Is there a Daedra Prince of Rape?”

“Yes, Molag Bal, the Prince of Domination is also called the King of Rape.”

“Good. I hope he claimed their souls.” Although if their souls were damned, what awaited her in the afterlife?

.oOo.

Daenerys was certain that Brelyna didn’t spread any gossip, but it was obvious that word had gotten out. When she returned to classes the after taking a rest day, conversations stopped, and people stopped to stare whenever she walked in. Once she sat down, conversation would restart in quiet whispers. It wasn’t surprising. Her friends had already made it public that she had been arrested for defending herself. They couldn’t hide that she had returned to classes, or that Faralda had taken her as an apprentice. That she was still required to supervise her charges would be enough to start rumors by itself. Normally, senior novitiates supervised the initiates. Apprentices still had duties, but they were assigned by their master.

Sofja approached her during an afternoon practice in the Hall of the Elements that day while she was practicing using the Frost spell. She could cast it readily now, but it was still more difficult to channel her anger into a Seeming than to use her knowledge of a Shout. The Nord girl approached but stood out of the way of the icy spray of cold flowing from her hand. Casually, Sofija crossed her arms and leaned against a column waiting to be acknowledged. This was unusual behavior for Sofija. Afternoon practices were loosely supervised. Students could practice whatever spells they wished, as long as there was a Master Wizard present and they watched their aim. Some students spent most of their practice time in conversation and gossip, but not Sofja. Despite her hostile attitude she trained hard, mostly with Conjuration. Sofja could cast Bound Dagger and had been trying and failing to cast Bound Sword. While Sofija was one of her charges, Sofija had never come to her for help before, nor was she one to gossip.

“Hello, Sofija.” Daenerys cut off the flow of Frost with satisfaction. She held up a hand. “I’ll be with you in a moment.” She closed her eyes and took in deep cleansing breaths and exhaled her anger. It was a relaxation exercise that had become important now that she was casting Frost and using anger as a Seeming. After several breaths she felt better. She opened her eyes. “Thank you. Now, can I help you with something?”

Sofija uncrossed her arms and nodded. “I’m not sure if you’re aware, but those few of us who follow the spellsword path meet in a training hall on the third floor on some afternoons for exercises and weapons practice. Adept Malak leads the sessions. I heard about the duel, and I thought you might want to join us.”

Daenerys wondered why she had never heard of the sessions or a training hall before. For that matter she had never heard of spellswords before. “What is the difference between a spellsword and a battlemage?”

Sofija scowled. “I forget you’re an outlander sometimes. A battlemage is almost always a master of Destruction and often Conjuration as well. They may wear heavy armor, but it is highly enchanted. They almost never engage their foes hand-to-hand. They blast them from a distance. The armor is to protect them from arrows and from the spells of other mages. A spellsword, on the other hand, is the perfect balance between magic and combat. Spellswords wade right into melee, a sword in one hand and a spell in the other.”

“I guess that explains why they teach us to cast spells like Bound Dagger and Bound Sword then. I thought they were rather useless. If you don’t know how to use a weapon, then conjuring one does you little good.”

Sofija shook her head. “That’s not entirely it. Spellswords often use conjured weapons. There are some advanced techniques that make them even more powerful, but a powerfully enchanted blade is superior to any conjured one. Being a spellsword is more than just conjuring weapons. It’s a way of life.”

Daenerys had never heard Sofija so passionate about anything. She barely spoke most of the time. She wasn’t sure what to make of the offer. Back on Planetos she had never sought to gain skill with weapons. Learning to wield a sword took years, and she had commanded trained and dangerous warriors. She shouldn’t need a weapon for her duel. However, she had been warned that her opponent would likely be very heavily armored. What if he survived her Shout? Also, she was beginning to wonder if the College was really the place for her. She had proved that she had the capability of learning magic based on a Seeming, but it was slow going. Learning Shouts from word walls would be faster, but that meant exploring Nord barrows. If she was going to be exploring crypts full of the dead, being able to use a weapon was a wise idea. Draugr didn’t pause their attacks while you rested to recover magicka.

“I’m not very good at weapons,” Daenerys admitted. “Nor am a warrior maid like you, but I am interested.”

Sofija frowned. “If you’re not skilled with weapons, how do you plan to survive the duel? You know you can’t use magic, don’t you? It’s not honorable. They’ll kill you.”

“Leave that to me.” Daenerys smiled. If it was good enough for Ulfric, it was good enough for her. “I’m going to win, but it wouldn’t hurt to know how to use a weapon, and not just for the duel.”

Sofija shook her head. “You’re confident. You must have a plan. You’re not going to tell me, are you?”

Daenerys just smiled.

“I hope you know what you’re doing. I want to see you gut whatever champion they put up to defend those cowards.”

“I can promise that you won’t be disappointed. So… where and when does this spellsword practice happen?”

.oOo.

The training room was easy enough to find. She had even walked past the door showing one hand holding a sword and another hand casting a spell without even noticing it. When she opened the door, the training room turned out to be a mostly empty classroom. Along one wall stood weapon racks filled with various melee weapons: swords, axes, hammers, knives and such. Some circles were painted upon the floor and there were the students.

Instead of a score of young boys working hard under the eyes of old warriors there was only Adept Malak and four pupils. Five, if she included herself. In addition to Sofija, she recognized one of the others as Thedyn, a dark-haired Nord that was one of Onmund’s charges. The other two were new to her, so probably apprentices, a blonde Breton lass and a brown-haired Bosmer. The two of them had matching facepaint and appeared to be a couple.

Adept Malak was a young and powerfully built Redguard. He wore traditional Redguard clothing in browns and oranges with a turban hiding his hair. He greeted her with a smile showing lots of perfectly white teeth. “Daenerys Targaryen.” He bowed formally. “I am glad you have chosen to join us this day.”

“Thank you for teaching us.” She bowed in return. What had she gotten herself into?

“We start,” said Malak. “By stretching as always. I will guide you today. The rest of you, no slacking. I’m still watching.”

Malak showed her how to stretch every part of her body. He seemed most focused on the arms and legs, but he kept emphasizing that it was important to stretch all the muscles. “Flexibility, agility, skill. These are more important than brute strength for a spellsword.”

After the stretching they ran sprints back and forth across the room. That was followed by odd exercises: push-ups, sit-ups, squats. She was tired and drenched in sweat long before he even allowed to pick up a wooden sword. She hadn’t managed to keep up with the exercises, but she hadn’t quit. Malak set his students to practicing against each other while he walked her step by step through the basics – how to stand, how to hold a sword, how to slash, and how to thrust. He made her repeat those moves again and again and again. She hadn’t even known there was a right and wrong way to stand.

“Alright, rest a bit. I’m going to check on the others.” Marak started circulating around the room as the others continued to fight mock duels. The Bosmer and Breton fought with conjured blades, but both Thedyn and Sofija used real steel. Marak critiqued, complemented, and corrected their form.

Daenerys watched the students square off. Did she really want to take part in this? She was awful even compared to all of them. Was the time spent learning to stick another person with a sharp bit of metal really time well spent? She wanted to say no, that she could just rely upon Shouting and magic, but it might save her life in the duel. She was also still planning to explore Nord barrows in search of word walls someday. She would never be a master of the sword, but having some skill would help her survive.

“Keep practicing,” said Malak. “Daenerys. You’ve had enough time watching. Join me in the circle and come at me.”

What followed was embarrassing. She tried to stab and slash the way he had shown her, but she didn’t even come close to touching him once. Sometimes Malak stepped aside. Sometimes he blocked. Most embarrassing were the times he just stood there and watched as her swing went wild. After every failed attack, he said the same word, “Again.” It was a simple word. He didn’t say it harshly or mockingly, but she got sick of hearing it. She tried over and over and never touched him.

After she tripped and fell on her face, he finally called a halt to everything. “Enough. Go sit down.” He raised his voice. “Everyone, time to stretch again.”

Adept Malak led them through more stretches at the end of class, and then dismissed everyone. “Good workout, everyone. Elistan, would you mind healing anyone who needs it, please?”

“I can and I will,” agreed the Bosmer.

Daenerys cursed herself for not thinking of that. Rather than waiting she used Healing on herself. She only had a few bruises, and they healed easily. Healing also took some of the aches in her limbs, but didn’t cure the exhaustion.

Malak approached her as the rest of the class started to leave. “Daenerys, you’ve obviously never done this before, but you never gave up. You have promise. Is this something you are going to stick with?”

She had promise? She had been awful. “I don’t know if you heard, but I have a duel coming up. I shouldn’t need a weapon, but I would like to know enough by then not to stab myself.” Also practicing just how close she could let an enemy approach would help her time her Shout. However, in the long term? “If I do something, I want to do it right. Will I ever be good just exercising and practicing a couple of hours a few afternoons a week?”

Malak shook his head. “No, but you might be able to defend yourself. Real warriors spend hours practicing every day and it takes years to build skills. When is this duel? You’re not going to pick up how to use a weapon in just a few hours.”

“A week, maybe two. The date isn’t set you. Having a sword is more of a back-up plan.”

He shrugged. “You could join us for morning sessions as well, but even then, you won’t see much progress for a week or so. If you somehow survive a duel with no skill in weapons, you would still be well-served to attend every practice.”

Daenerys glanced over at Sofija who was listening with interest. Somehow morning sessions hadn’t been brought up during her little introduction. “When are the morning sessions?”

“During the sixth hour every morning except Sundas. I might be able to give you a couple of extra weapons, but you just won’t learn much in a couple of weeks. It just isn’t enough time.”

“Don’t worry.” If she needed to use a sword at all, it would be to finish off a severely injured opponent. “I’ll come to the morning sessions as well. After the duel, I’ll decide whether I want to continue or not.”

.oOo.

Daenerys was surprised when Faralda asked that they meet in her office instead of the Destruction training room. She had never been to her office before. It was very much like her, strictly organized and regimented, a place for every book and item, and everything in its place.

“Please, be seated.” Faralda beckoned her to a seat before her desk. It was made of a dark wood, polished and lacquered until it shone. Faralda didn’t sit down, but instead she went to a tea service set in its own alcove. She poured out two cups of a dark brown liquid that was obviously hot from the wisps of steam coming off the cups. She then added a small amount of honey to each cup and stirred. “Calen tea. It’s merish and very hard to come by here in Skyrim. I save it for special occasions.” She returned to her desk sitting a cup in front of Daenerys before sitting herself. “Such as when I take a new apprentice.”

Daenerys took a cautious sip. For some it might be too hot to drink, but she savored the heat. The flavor was almost too strong, but the honey made it tolerable. “It’s interesting. I think I could learn to like it.”

Faralda nodded approvingly. “It does make a pleasant change from beer, wine, and mead. Now, to business. While I rushed things by making you my apprentice, I don’t regret it one bit. You have the makings of an excellent mage. Setting aside your ability to cast spells based off Shouting, you have successfully cast two spells based off Seemings with only a little over a month of instruction. Granted you were in an extremely stressful situation, which does speed learning, but it is still remarkable progress.”

“Thank you. I also gather that you made the offer to protect me, and I appreciate that as well. Even though I don’t understand how it protected me.”

“The bylaws of the College are old and cannot be readily ignored even by the Archmage. A novitiate can be expelled by the archmage alone. For an apprentice to be expelled, both the apprentice’s master and the archmage must agree to expel the student. It was not complete protection. Archmage Savos could have stripped me of my title and fired me first. That happened recently to the previous Master of Conjuration. Maybe you heard of the incident?”

“I did,” agreed Daenerys. “Something involving a Daedric artifact, Azura’s Star?”

“I see the school rumor chain is still effective. Yes, Azura’s Star was involved. A student died and several more left when Malyn Varen was removed from his post.”

“I heard the student was sacrificed, yet he was allowed to leave. He wasn’t handed over to the jarl for murder was he?”

“No, no he was not.” Faralda frowned. “I don’t think he should have been handed to the jarl. It would have set a bad precedent. That the student was ritually killed is beyond doubt. The problem was there was no proof that Malyn Varen was the one who performed the sacrifice. The archmage was more interested in covering things up and protecting the College’s reputation than finding the culprit. Instead, he expelled all involved.”

“So, where did they go? Are they just out there somewhere in Skyrim sacrificing people and giving mages a bad name?”

“Unfortunately, that is likely the case. At any rate we have drifted off the topic. While circumstances rushed my decision, I would have made an offer to you as soon as I thought it wouldn’t turn heads. There are several things I want to discuss, and we’ll get to them, but first…” Faralda’s expression softened with concern. “How are you holding up?”

“I’m fine. I have been through worse. They’re dead. I’m alive. The archmage isn’t handing me over to the jarl, and I’m going to make Jarl Korir choke on his decision.”

“The duel?” Faralda frowned. “He won’t be happy to lose his champion… Ah, I see. You’ll win by Shouting and he won’t be able to say a word because Ulfric Stormcloak won his duel the same way.”

“Only in part.” She sipped her tea and smiled. “Trust me, you’ll see.”

“I hope you’re right. You know that you don’t have to do this. We can find another way. You can win by Shouting, but if you Shout too soon or too late, you can lose.”

“I know.” She shrugged. “I won’t miss. Those who attacked me paid. The jarl hasn’t yet, but he will. It will change things, but I am no rabbit. I will hide behind a pair of floppy ears no more.”

Faralda’s brow furrowed. “And are you going to reveal how Shouts are connected to your casting? Do you want the Thalmor learning that?”

“There is a difference between not hiding what I am and revealing all my secrets. The secret of casting spells based on shouts remains between us.”

“Good. Next question. Now that you can cast spells using a Seeming, do you have any insights on how it is different basing them on Shouts?”

“The spells I cast based on Shouts are easier to get started, but once started the rest is the same. She cast around for a way to explain it. “Suppose you had a cart you needed to get downhill, but you didn’t have a horse. You strain and push until, finally, you move it a few feet. Then it rolls downhill. That’s using a Seeming. With a Shout, you just tell the horse to giddy-up.”

Faralda nodded. “I’m not surprised. I rather expected as much after all our conversations, but until you could cast magic both ways, we couldn’t be certain. So, not only is Shout-based magic less harmful to the caster’s sanity, but also easier to cast.” Faralda sipped at her tea for a moment. “That’s good for you, and for everyone if it can be taught.” She abruptly set her tea down. “What do you want, Daenerys? We were partners before. Now you’re also my apprentice. Do you want to learn Destruction magic under my tutelage?”

“I think that I would rather we remain partners. Coming here to the College wasn’t a mistake. I learned about Seemings, and now I know my magic is different. That’s important. However, I think I would be better served to search out word walls and pursue my own Shout-based magic. However, I’m not ready to explore Nord barrows on my own yet, and I can’t afford to hire bodyguards.”

“Partners?” The corners of Faralda’s mouth turned up just a little. “I’d like to remain partners, even if you’re my apprentice now. I’m afraid that my research into Shouting has reached a dead end. There are three roads forward. One, I let you shout directly at me, but I am not suicidal. Two, we seek out the Greybeards. And three, we seek out word walls, and I see if I can learn their lesson. I propose that I change my research to locating word walls. In spring I will take a sabbatical from the College, and we seek them out together.”

Daenerys smiled broadly. “I like this plan, but two mages alone in Nord barrow? We’ll need guards. I’ll contribute what I have, but it isn’t much.”

“I think it will be easier to hire guards than you might think with a Mistress of Destruction coming along. Unfortunately teaching at the College pays more in prestige and research opportunities than gold. I could probably afford enough to pay for two good mercenaries. However, I hope we can recruit from the College. Most apprentices choose to leave once the College once they make adept. A few more mages to join us would make things even safer. 

“How about Adept Malak? He’s a spellsword. I’ve started attending his lessons.”

“Have you indeed?” Faralda shrugged. “Perhaps, but I doubt he’ll leave. He has been here for several years. I’m not sure if he simply prefers to teach, or if he is hoping to join the faculty. However, you might look into some of his students. Since you’re in his class, why not sound them out?”

Daenerys nodded. “I’ll give it a try. I will start by getting to know them better. No one is going anywhere for a few months.”

“True. Now, let’s talk about your magical education. I agree that Shout-based magic is your best long-term plan. However, we’re snowed in for a while yet. So, let’s talk about what spells you should focus on to help us both survive better while exploring Nord barrows.”

.oOo.

As Daenerys entered the Restoration classroom, she waved goodbye to Brelyna and went to sit with her charges. She noticed immediately that something was wrong. The dynamics of the group had changed. Sofija sat leaning back in her chair, arms crossed and a scowl on her face. Tailour sat beside her looking a bit queasy. Matilda and Enja set together and a little apart from the other two.

Enja quickly looked away when she spotted Daenerys entering and spoke to Matilda. “Really, noble? Who does she think she’s fooling? I looked it up in Noble Houses of the Empire. There is no such house. Never has been. She can’t even speak properly. She’s making it all up.” Her words were pitched loud enough to carry to half the room.

The room grew suddenly quiet and Daenerys knew that she had to respond. Enja had chosen her ground purposefully. Enja was the favorite pupil of the Mistress of Restoration, so Daenerys couldn’t simply slap her charge across the face, no matter how tempting a response that might be. “I never claimed to be from the Empire, child.” She kept her response calm and at a normal tone, even knowing the whole room was straining to listen.

“Oh, so where are you from? Could it be the Aldmeri Domion?” She made a fake gasp and brought one hand to her cheek. “But you’re not an elf! Oh, perhaps you’re an escaped slave from Akavir… but they killed all the humans and slaves aren’t nobles. Did you know that it is a crime to pretend to be noble when you aren’t? The punishment for breaking that law is death.”

“An Imperial law, I’m sure,” replied Daenerys. “And we’re not under Imperial law right now, are we? We’re at the College of Winterhold. By ancient custom I can leave my past behind if I choose. Also, by ancient custom you are my charge, and I have certain punishments I can assign as needed. You are on scullery duty starting now until Saturnalia is over.” That was about as severe a punishment as she could lay on the girl, but Enja was being publicly disrespectful. What had she expected to achieve?

“Now, now,” interjected Collette. “I agree she was disrespectful, but you did breach the custom yourself in claiming noble birth. Two weeks including Saturnalia day seems excessive. As this is my classroom, I have the final say in here. One week of scullery duty will suffice.”

Daenerys held Collette's gaze for a brief moment. She didn't glare but the steel behind her eyes caused the Mistress of Restoration to falter. “I make no claims. I am Daenerys the Unburnt, of the House Targaryen. Our words are 'Fire and Blood' and we bear a three-headed red dragon as our symbol. I come from no lands that you know of, and I intend on leaving my past behind.” The more she spoke, the firmer her voice became. “I suggest you... educate your student. Lest she insults someone less forgiving than I.”

Collette paled but nodded in agreement. She clapped her hands. “Very well. I apologize for my words and on Enja's behalf. Now, let us move on to meditation.”


	18. Chapter 17

# Chapter 17

Fredas, the 5th of Evening Star, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Faralda kept her posted on the negotiations between Archmage Savos and Jarl Korir. The negotiations dragged out for days. The jarl kept demanding Archmage Savos appear before him in his longhouse. The archmage kept claiming he was busy, but he would counteroffer to meet with the Jarl Korir in his office. Neither man budged so they ended up wasting time exchanging messages. It took three days before Jarl Korir even admitted his men had been killed. He accused the archmage. Savos denied it immediately. Two days later he revealed that Daenerys had killed the guards when they attempted to rape her. The jarl denied that his guards were rapists and insisted that Daenerys be handed over for execution. Savos revealed she had sanctuary and ignored the increasingly strident jarl for a few more days before countering with trial by combat. Then there was more bickering. In all three weeks passed before they finally agreed that the duel would take place on the afternoon of Saturnalia. Apparently, the duel would be entertainment for the celebration.

By the time the date was set Daenerys just wanted to get the duel over with, but the delays had probably been a good thing. While she was still a novice with the blade, she was certain that she had a good feel for how quickly a trained warrior could close with her. She felt that she could time her Shout to guarantee a kill without being run through herself. That didn’t mean she was unconcerned. She still didn’t know who she was going to fight. She expected someone in plate armor. When Nords usually favored lighter armor, a champion fighting a duel would no doubt wear the best armor available.

The upcoming duel stole the joy out of Saturnalia morning, or at least it did among her friends. She exchanged gifts with Brelyna, Onmund, and J’zargo. She found more pleasure in the gifts she gave than the ones she received. Her friends tried to stay in good spirits, but their cheer was forced. While everyone else feasted and drank freely at lunch, she ate lightly and only had one glass of wine. After that it was time.

The fight was taking place in the city, but almost the entire College was coming to watch. Master Wizard Mirabelle was busy sorting and organizing a procession apparently following some kind of prearranged plan. Archmage Savos led the way along with Phinis Gestor, the Master of Conjuration, both of them summoned fierce red-faced demons wearing armor who led the way. Several apprentices and adepts followed commanding atronachs of flame and frost. The message wasn’t at all subtle – start a fight and the College will end it. The people of Winterhold seemed to get the message. They were quiet and subdued as the procession of mages entered the town.

Daenerys came behind the vanguard. She had spent a good bit of time considering what to wear before deciding to wear the repaired leather armor that Araena had enchanted for warmth. While her novitiate robes had some useful enchantments, they were not an option in this duel. It wasn’t merely because they lacked protection. Image would be more important in this fight than defense, and her repaired and stained armor was something a common Nord warrior might own. She also chose to forgo a helmet and leave her hair visible. She wanted everyone to see that she was a woman.

Malak marched at the head of the rest of the spellswords who acted as her honor guard. They all wore armor and carried swords and looked very martial. That was sensible. Nords would likely respect spellswords more than other mages. What surprised Daenerys was Sofija. The fierce girl was dressed in full leather armor and her face was painted with what was clearly a red three-headed dragon. It wasn’t drawn the way the symbol for House Targaryen was supposed to be drawn. One dragon head sat in the middle of her forehead like a third eye. Two more were painted as if crawling out of her eyes and down her cheeks. Her facepaint was obviously a very big statement of support, and possibly even a declaration of allegiance. Despite living amongst Nords for months, she was by no means an expert on all their customs. She would have to ask after the duel.

The agreed location for the duel was the main street of town just outside the Jarl’s longhouse where the Jarl had arranged his own show of force. A large company of armored men stood outside. There were also multiple archers stationed on the nearby roofs. It would be so easy for this situation to get out of hand and turn into open warfare. Although, now that she considered things, that might be why the illusionists were just behind the front lines. They might be able to stop hostilities with calming spells before they got out of hand.

Daenerys searched the Jarl’s party. She still didn’t know who she would be facing in single combat. The Jarl had a problem. By Nord tradition it should be the Jarl’s housecarl who fought duels like this to settle matters of honor. However, Jarl Korir had married his housecarl. Under Imperial law that hadn’t been a problem as only nobles could insist upon a trial by combat, and trial by combat just didn’t happen that often. Any challenge would have been more likely to be aimed at him for the throne. However, Winterhold followed Ulfric Stormcloak and Nord customs. So, Korir’s wife Thaena should be his champion. Yet, for any Nord to send his wife to fight for him screamed cowardice. The two customs conflicted leaving Korir with nothing but bad choices. As Daenerys scanned the Jarl’s party, she didn’t see any other possible champions. She was surprised to see what looked like a mage in his party, but then she noticed that his plain brown robe was marked with the sword-axe symbol of Talos, a priest no doubt. She also noticed a young muscular blond dressed in leathers and a dangerous air about him, but he stood apart from the Jarl’s party surrounded by his own group of followers. Not the behavior she would expect of a champion.

Archmage Savos and Jarl Korir met and exchanged not-so-pleasant salutations. They both agreed that the duel would proceed. Each party withdrew to their own side and a dueling circle was drawn in the snow.

Thaena stepped forward to the edge of the dueling ring. She wore a cloak of red over polished and engraved steel plate. Not an inch of skin showed. The only thing that marked her as feminine was the exaggerated curves on her breastplate. Her shield was huge, a tower shield almost as tall as she was. Tower shields were normally seen only on the battlefield to protect against arrows and other ranged attacks. It was not the shield that a warrior would typically bring to a duel due to their bulky. Thaena clearly expected her to cheat.

Daenerys eyed the tower shield warily. She had tested both **Yol** and **Fus** against round and kite shields, but she hadn’t tested her shout against a tower shield. Mostly because the College had only a limited armory that Faralda could discretely raid for supplies. Could a tower shield provide enough protection that Thaena could survive a Shout unharmed? Daenerys doubted it, but she was about to find out.

“People of Winterhold!” yelled Jarl Korir above the noise of the crowd. “We are gathered here in the sight of the gods to settle a matter of justice. Daenerys the Unburnt, you are accused of cravenly threatening a citizen of Winterhold with magic, of jailbreak, of the murder of Stefan the Stalwart, his son Jaako, and Naudgari, Warden of the Chill. You are further accused of conspiring with your lover Sagyval to raid a caravan outside of Winterhold, which you did by calling down a dragon to attack the caravan. I also warn you. We do not follow Imperial law. Magic is not permitted in duels. If you cast a spell, my archers have orders to kill you on the spot. May the gods determine the right!”

Daenerys immediately launched a response before Archmage Savos could speak for her. “I am Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name, the Unburnt. I defended myself against a coward who spread lies, attacked me from behind, and threatened me with bared steel. I submitted myself to peaceful arrest. When I was out of sight and chained, the cowards: Stefan, Jaako, and Naudgari, attempted to rape me. I defended myself as is the right of any woman. Naudgari and Stefan both bragged of having raped prisoners many times before, both male and female. Sagyval is no lover of mine, nor did I call down the dragon that attacked the caravan.” She paused for a deep breath to be sure her last words carried. “And I shall fight as honorably as Ulfric Stormcloak himself! May Talos determine the right!” She wasn’t happy about tying herself to the Stormcloak cause with such a public statement, but the presence of archers and Korir’s threat made it necessary. She had no time to fret about it now.

Thaena stepped into the dueling ring, her tower shield in front of her like a mobile wall. She advanced slowly, step-by-step with her guard up.

Daenerys took a step into ring and advanced slowly.

“Scared mage? You’re going to die today. Even if you cheat, you’ll die afterward and prove that mages cannot fight with honor.”

“Speaking of honor, how does it feel to be married to a man who hides behind his wife? Jarl Korir could have met me in battle himself, but he sent you instead.”

“I’m his housecarl!” she snarled. “It’s an honor to fight for my jarl.” She surged forward to the center of the ring, but she still kept the shield in front of her.

Daenerys backed up. She wanted Thaena to come to her. “You fight for the honor of rapists. Of men who need to bind a woman in chains and force her to get laid. You betray all women.”

“If you’re so confident, why don’t you fight me?” Thaena charged with the shield held in front of her.

Daenerys took a breath and held it to the last moment when Thaena’s shield was in her face before she Shouted, “ **Yol**!” and the Shout burst forth in a cone of fire.

The Shout slammed into Thaena’s shield. She went flying back and tumbled across the icy ground. She ended up face down, one hand still gripping the shield, but her arm was twisted around at an impossible angle.

The crowd went silent saved for awed murmurs that she had shouted. Jarl Korir wasn’t silent. He started screaming. “Cheater! Cheater! Shoot her! Fill her full of arrows! Kill her now!”

Daenerys rushed forward because Thaena wasn’t dead. Despite her arm obviously being broken, the jarl’s champion was pushing herself to her feet with her sword arm. With every step she expected to feel the sharp pain of arrows piercing her body.

“No!” cried out the Priest of Talos. “She used a holy Shout, just as Ulfric did when he struck down the High King!”

Daenerys reached Thaena before the housecarl could stand and swung her sword at Thaena’s arm. Rather than hitting her, Thaena suddenly moved with surprising speed and parried hard. Daenerys barely kept hold of her sword and backpedaled as Thaena surged forward. If her arm wasn’t broken and still locked into the tower shield, the housecarl’s lunge would have likely gutted her like a fish. Instead, the blow glanced off her armor.

“Coward! Cheat!” screamed Thaena. “Do your duty and shoot her!”

Daenerys circled left, which forced Thaena to move toward her injured arm. She lashed out at the tower shield, knowing her blow wouldn’t break through the shield. Thaena cried out in pain and tried to bring her sword to bear, but Daenerys kept circling. She started smiling as she struck out against the shield again and again. With each blow Thaena would grunt in pain as the impact jarred her broken arm. She tried to rush forward and reach Daenerys, but with her tower shield dragging she couldn’t manage it.

Circle left, strike the shield, pull back. Again and again Daenerys repeated the same maneuver. If she was more skilled with the sword, there would be no need to draw this out, but Thaena was still dangerous. So, she kept striking her shield. She didn’t even have to tire Thaena out. All she had to do was draw this out long enough for her magicka to return.

The noise of the crowd grew louder. Mages from the College were chanting her name in unison. Other cries were simply bloodthirsty crying out to finish her and end this. Thaena started to flag. She moved slower and staggered more with each blow.

Daenerys felt she could have won a battle of endurance, by continuing to punish Thaena’s broken arm, but she didn’t have to. She had finally gathered enough magicka to Shout again. Carefully she maneuvered back toward the edge of the ring. She did not want to strike the audience at this point. She even circled a little more so that Thanea’s back was to Jarl Korir.

“This is over, Thaena. You’re slowing. You’re already lost. Yield, and you don’t have to die today.”

“You know nothing of honor!” Thaena bellowed. “I fight for the honor of my jarl! I will die before I yield!”

“As you wish.” Daeyners quickly switched directions circling to the right. With her arm broken, Thaena couldn’t raise her shield. This time she aimed higher. “ **Yol**!”

Fire exploded in a cone angled up. It passed over Thaena’s shield and struck her in the face. She was thrown back again. Her body landed in one place, while the force of the Shout blasted her head from her body and completely out of the ring. It sailed directly to where Jarl Korir and his party stood.

Ironically, it landed right at the feet of the priest. He snatched it up and held it high in the air. “Behold! The judgment of Talos!”

Jarl Korir was livid with rage. “No! That was not a real Shout. She faked it with magic.” He stared at her with eyes full of hate while ignoring a small boy who knelt on the snowy ground crying and hugging at his leg.

“That was Shouting,” insisted the priest of Talos.

Daenerys looked about. The spellswords stood with swords drawn, clearly ready if this turned into a battle. Several other mages held up hands that glowed with fire.

“Jarl Korir,” called out the blond man wearing leathers that she had noticed before. “You are a coward who hid behind your wife when honor demanded you fight for yourself. You are unwilling to abide by the clear judgment of the gods.” He waved a hand to the roof. “Even your own men did not obey you. You are unfit to be the Jarl of Winterhold. My claim to the throne is as old and noble as yours. I call challenge upon you in the old ways. Face me or be proven a coward.”

Jarl Korir threw off his polar bear cloak. “You picked a good day to die, Kraldar. Mage, get out of the challenge ring, and watch how true Nords fight.”

The fight was of strength and armor versus youth and agility. Kraldar’s strategy was obvious from the start. Force his plate wearing opponent to keep circling and moving until he wore himself out. It was a risky strategy requiring superior skill and endurance. However, Kraldar appeared capable of pulling it off. He fought with an axe in each hand versus Korir’s sword and shield. It helped that the crowd was unmistakably for Kraldar. The few cries for Korir were lost in a sea of voices chanting, “Kraldar. Kraldar. Kraldar.” Daenerys was among them. However, it was Jarl Korir who drew first blood with a vicious cut to Kraldar’s right arm. Kralder dropped his axe and fought on one-handed.

The fight ended abruptly as duels often do. Both men were slowing, but Jarl Korir was tiring faster in his armor. He overcommitted and Kraldar chopped off the Jarl’s swordarm at the wrist. Jarl Korir’s gauntleted hand fell to the snow still gripping his sword. Kraldar followed up by burying his axe in the jarl’s neck. He backed up, retrieved the axe that he had lost earlier, and waited for the jarl to die.

The Talos priest stepped into the circle. “Talos has passed judgment. Jarl Korir is dead. Long live, Jarl Kraldar.”

“Long live Jarl Kraldar!” echoed everyone.


	19. Chapter 18

# Chapter 18

Turdas, the 25th of Evening Star, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Someone, most likely Archmage Savos or Master Wizard Mirabelle, gave the order for the mages to return to the College. That was probably a good idea. While the people of Winterhold seemed overwhelmed by the turn of events, they had no great love of mages. Daenerys stayed with the other spellswords as they all returned to the College. Sofija in particular stayed by her side. Daenerys shushed Thedyn when he started to ask questions. However, she didn’t hush Malak.

“I had wondered why you were so confident that you could win. While that was not proper sword technique, it was still well planned. I had no idea you could Shout. Did you study with the Greybeards?”

“No, I never studied with the Greybeards. It was... more of a fluke than anything. I happened upon the Word, and it resonated with me. Also, I would very much appreciate it if you would continue to treat me as just one of your students, Adept Malak. Your lessons most likely saved my life today. I intend to continue.”

Malak gave her a slight bow without breaking stride. “If that is what you wish, then that is how I will treat you. I may very well be the only one. After today I doubt the rest of the College will think you just another student.” He shrugged. “Put away your worries. It is Saturnalia and the gods have blessed you with a victory. You are the winning champion of the College of Winterhold. Surely that merits a celebration in your honor.”

It seemed that the entire College agreed with Malak. Everyone wanted to shake her hand or press of flagon of mead into her hand. She was given little choice but to join an impromptu party in the dining hall. Drink and song flowed freely. She managed to push her way to her friends and claim a table for herself, Brelyna, Onmund, and J’zargo. Faralda claimed a place there as well. Sofija stayed close, but she stood stoically a short distance away simply watching. Many asked about her past and where she had learned to Shout. The presence of her mentor kept most of them in line. More than once she was asked if she was Dragonborn. Most of those who asked were Nords, but not all of them. She added a new reply for that question, “I have never claimed that title.”

Eventually, everyone who wanted to shake her hand, to slap her on the back, to stare at her, or to ask her questions had done so. The party continued, but now it was more general merriment and celebration. Some of the students even broke out some musical instruments and before long many were dancing. Onmund was well into his cups and kept retelling the story of both duels with increasingly flamboyant hand gestures. J’zargo had disappeared somewhere, no doubt gambling with students who were drunk enough to be easy marks. Daenerys was enjoying herself and feeling the wine in more ways than one. That was her sign to stop. Unlike Tyrion she did not enjoy drinking to excess. When she got up to visit the privy, Daenerys noticed that Sofija was following. She decided it was high time to confront Sofija about her facepaint and self-appointed guard duty.

She waited until she passed a side corridor, turned down it, then immediately spun around to face her stalker. “Sofija, what is going on? I don’t need an escort to the privy.”

Sofija dropped to one knee and bent her head. “I misjudged you when I first saw you. You were tiny and polite and pretty. I thought you were weak, but you didn’t act weak. I still underestimated you. You killed three ‘warriors’ who tried to rape you with both hands tied behind your back.” She paused and took a deep breath. “That’s when I knew that you had the heart of a warrior. I watched and listened. Then you said it in the open for all to hear. The symbol of House Targaryen, your house, is a three-headed dragon. They all heard, yet they did not listen. I knew then and there why you were so confident that you would win the duel. You are Dragonborn, and rightful heir to the Empire.” She stayed kneeling but looked up. “I am penniless, exiled for kin-slaying, and even my magic is weak. I have only my service to offer, but I would pledge myself to you. If you would have me.”

Daenerys had half expected this from the facepaint. Sofija wouldn’t have been her first choice for a follower. She was sullen and rude, and still only a student. While she was somewhat skilled with a blade, her magic was weak. She wasn’t a spellsword. At least not yet. However, she was undoubtedly earnest. Nords weren’t that different from Northmen. They valued the ideal of the honorable warrior, but few managed to live up to it. While Sofija’s gesture might seem impulsive, Daenerys had no doubt she was sincere. Exiled, penniless, and a kin-slayer. Daenerys held none of that against her. It meant that Sofija would work harder to reclaim her honor. “I am not an Empress today, nor do I seek that title. I have no lands. While I am nobly born, the Empire will never acknowledge my titles. I cannot promise you glory or riches, only hard work and danger. Knowing all that, do you still wish to serve me?”

“By the Nine, yes.”

“Then I accept your service.”

Sofija bent so low she was almost kissing the ground. “My life for you, Daenerys of the House Targaryen, first of her name, the Unburnt, Dragonborn.”

“Rise and stand, Sofija Ēlī Vokēdrie. In Valyrian that means First Faithful for you are the first in all of Tamriel to swear unto me.”

Sofia hastily stood up. “Eli Vokedrie, I will live up to that name.”

“I know you will. Understand that I have no wish to claim titles yet, so for now that name must remain sealed between us two. It will not be long before you can claim it. I give you another secret as an act of trust. I will be leaving the College in spring. We will have companions, but we will be going into Nord barrows in search of knowledge buried in the past. We will be facing traps and draugr, so my first command to you is to study hard, both with the sword and magic. When we leave the College in spring, I expect you to be ready to defend my life with sword and spell.”

Sofija pounded her chest with a fist in salute. “My lips are sealed, and I will be ready.”

“Good, now go back to the dining hall and have a few drinks. I won a great victory today. Celebrate. I don’t need you to guard my back within these walls.”

.oOo.

As Daenerys returned to the Dining Hall a golden-skinned figure glided out of the shadows to confront her like a spider creeping forward to a snare a fly caught in his web. Long white hair, dark robes embroidered with threads of gold, and a sneer upon his face – Ancano, the Thalmor ‘advisor’ to the archmage. Daenerys wondered if she had been too hasty in dismissing Sofija’s self-appointed role as her bodyguard. However, she doubted Ancano intended to attack her within the walls of the College. Especially when he had no doubt just witnessed the power of her Thu’um.

“Justiciar Ancano, what an unpleasant surprise, are you lurking around the privy now to hide your stench?”

“What?! How dare you! You insolent human child.”

“Oh, I beg your pardon. Were we supposed to pretend to be polite and exchange veiled insults first? Why bother? You already know that I called upon Talos to judge my duel, and that I can Shout. I am sure that you have already added my name to a very long list of people to be arrested, questioned, and executed.” Thankfully, this world didn’t have ravens. By most measures Tamriel was ahead of Westeros. Ravens and cavalry were among the few exceptions. Ancano wouldn’t be able to get word out for weeks at least. Even when he did, word would spread at the speed of horse and ships.

“So, you admit it to my face, then. You are a Talos worshiper!”

She shrugged. “And you’re a bigot actively working to undermine the Mede Empire by encouraging the Stormcloak rebellion.”

“The Admeri Dominion does nothing of the sort. The Mede Empire is weak and falling apart. It is a pile of festering garbage collapsing under its own weight. The Thalmor merely ensure that the terms of the White-Gold Concordat are upheld.”

“Yes, yes, and you’re hastening the collapse as much as possible. Was there a point in confronting me, or did you just want to gloat about your obvious plotting?”

“You are going to regret your tongue. You are a mere apprentice here. I’m an honored advisor. I will be having words with the Archmage about your insults.”

“Good luck with that. Yesterday, I was a troublemaker. Today, I am the Champion of the College of Winterhold.”

“You are a fool! I am not a stupid warrior like the one you defeated today. I am a master of the arcane arts. I could strike you down now.” A bit of electricity flickered in his hand. “And tell everyone you attacked me. That worked very well for you, did it not?”

“That’s an empty bluff. I have no doubt that you’re a powerful mage, but can you strike me down before I can Shout? Funny thing. Shouts are loud. There is a dining hall full of drunken Nord mages just down that hallway drinking in my honor. What do you think would happen if they came running out here and saw you flinging lightning at me?”

“Fool! You have made an enemy today!” Ancano turned and stomped off.

Maybe she was a little drunk on wine and victory, but she couldn’t resist getting the last word. “No, I made an enemy when I won that duel by Shouting. This was just us being honest about it.”

.oOo.

In hindsight Daenerys was surprised that Sofija was the only Nord to come forward and ask to be sworn to her service. Every Nord at the College treated her with great respect now. Even Onmund treated her differently. He no longer joked as he did around her. When she spoke, he listened intently as if he expected her to suddenly spout the wisdom of the ages. Matilda, much to Daenerys' bemusement, had fallen to her knees almost in tears and begged forgiveness. Enja had delivered an obviously rehearsed apology. Daenerys couldn’t tell if the quaver in Enja’s voice was real or faked, but she didn’t real care that much one way or another. Quite frankly she had more important issues to be concerned with than a foolish girl who didn't know her limits. Perhaps treating the girl with the indifference that she felt was the best way forward, so she simply dismissed the girl.

The rest of the student population was more curious than reverent. Wherever she went conversations died and heads turned. Few were bold enough to ask her questions about Shouting or her past, and a frosty gaze served to silence most of them. Most of them were in awe of her and contented themselves to staring and fawning over her. Even the faculty were not immune. Collette kept Daenerys late to apologize for the Enja incident. Drevis Neloren, the Master of Illusion, spent almost half of one class helping her with the Clairvoyance spell. Even Urag gro-Shub, the College librarian had congratulated her on a well-fought duel.

And then there were the spellsword lessons. Enja, Matilda and Taillour all joined the class, as did Brelyna, Onmund and many others. Malak took things in stride and set everyone to stretching and exercising. Most of the newcomers dropped within two lessons. Enja and Matilda barely made it through the first lesson. Onmund stuck through to the end of the second session before he quit. However, Brelyna and Taillour seemed determined to stay with it. Taillour was quietly and stubbornly determined to stay. Brelyna was more vocal about her reasons. “I am here to master Conjuration. It does me little good to be able to summon a sword and not know how to wield it. I should have been attending all along. Your duel, especially the way you were vulnerable, opened my eyes to the fact that depending upon my magic alone is foolish.”

.oOo.

Three days after Saturnalia, Faralda pulled her out of class to attend another meeting in the Archmages sanctum. In addition to Faralda and the archmage, Master Wizard Mirabelle, and Jarl Kraldar were also present. A bald middle-aged Breton dressed in leather stood at attention behind Jarl Kraldar. A round table large enough to sit everyone had apparently been brought in for the occasion.

Mirabelle smiled as Daenerys and Faralda took their seats. “Thank you both for coming. Jarl Kraldar wanted to speak with you both, particularly Apprentice Daenerys.”

The new Jarl of Winterhold was dressed in the same leather armor that he had worn on the day of the duel. However, this time he wore a white polar bear cloak. It may have been the same one that Jarl Korrir had worn before he died. “Daenerys of the House Targaryen, I have been looking forward to speaking with you. I trust you will understand that I had many matters to attend to once I took the throne of Winterhold.”

Was he apologizing for not talking to her sooner? “Of course, I understand. Assuming control of a city is a very busy time for a ruler. Everyone has questions, and everyone is reluctant to make decisions. They all stall waiting to see how the wind blows, so everything ends up in your lap.”

“That is very perceptive of you. Indeed, it has been like that, but meeting with Archmage Savos was always high on my agenda. The College and the Hold have been at odds for too long. It is past time old grudges were put aside. We are natural allies, not enemies.”

“Hear, hear!” agreed Mirabelle.

Savos merely waved a hand.

“I also wanted to extend the apologies of Winterhold to how you were treated. You have already dealt with the rapists who dishonored the good name of Winterhold. However, you were still thrown into prison without reason. I would like to offer you a gift for the terrible harm you almost suffered. Thonjolf, the case please.”

The bald man standing guard behind the jarl took a few steps back to where a long narrow wooden case leaned against the wall. He set it down on the table in front of Daenerys.

Daenerys smiled politely. Whatever it was, she was obligated to receive it. Refusing a gift like this would be an insult and a sign that she still held Winterhold accountable. She released the latches and opened the box to reveal a large wooden staff with a blue and pink crystal orb at the apex resting in a fur-lined box. Daenerys ran her hands across it. Sergius Turrianus, Master of Enchanting, was teaching them to read enchanted objects. Being able to identify the magic in an item was the first step in learning Enchanting. “I am sorry. Unfortunately, I am still a beginner at Enchanting. I can tell that this staff really does not like the undead.”

“It is a Grand Staff of Repulsion,” explained Mirabelle. “It will cause most undead to flee. Only strong spirits can resist.”

Daenerys stood up so she could curtsey. “Thank you, it is a noble gift indeed. Please, let us consider the matter between us settled and forgotten. I am glad to hear that a new era of civility has begun between the College and City of Winterhold.” She also had to wonder how much the jarl knew. Had her plans leaked? Because few items would be better suited for exploring Nordic barrows.

“You are welcome. Please, be seated. We have more to discuss.”

“Very well.” She returned to her seat as Thonjolf closed the case and took it away. She was hardly surprised that the jarl had questions, but this looked to be a much friendlier interrogation that she had undergone at the hands of Jarl Korir. However, she wasn’t about to volunteer more than she must.

Jarl Kraldar stared at her a moment before speaking. “I suppose we might as well start with the mammoth in the room. Are you Dragonborn?”

“Wait!” interrupted Faralda. “Before she answers that question, we have still not decided who will hear the answer to the question. Lest you all forget, Ancano is here at this college as an emissary from the Thalmor. Her answer to that question could put her under the sentence of death. As she is my apprentice, I will be obliged to protect her.”

Archmage Savos rolled his eyes. “As if she would be any more trouble than she is already for invoking Talos when she dueled Jarl Korir.”

Faralda wasn’t having it. “She can be made a higher priority target. The Thalmor are known to employ assassins.”

“Wait, wait,” said Jarl Kraldar. “Let me rephrase that question. Do you claim the title of Dragonborn?”

Daenerys had informed Faralda about the confrontation with Ancano days ago. Faralda had once again vented her fury on some practice dummies. While Daenerys appreciated that her mentor was trying to protect her, she doubted it would make much difference. Drunk on victory and wine, she had been more antagonistic than was wise. However, she couldn’t bring herself to regret her words. Ancano had already been her enemy from the moment she used the Thu’um in public. The real question was if she was ready to live up to the title Dragonborn. The answer was not quite yet.

“I have not claimed that title. To be honest, I am not entirely certain how that title gets bestowed. Jarl Ulfric has not claimed the title, but he can Shout. I am certain he would have claimed the title if he could.”

“Jarl Ulfric was taught to Shout by the Greybeards,” replied Jarl Kraldar. “That makes him a Tongue. He is greatly respected for his ability to Shout. The Dragonborn, on the other hand, is an old legend. In the very oldest tales, the Dragonborn would steal the power of dragons they slew. Dragonborn do not need the years of training others must undergo to master shouting. There have been few Dragonborn to ever walk Tamriel: Saint Alessia, Reman Cyrodiil, and Tiber Septim are the most notable among them.”

Daenerys realized that she had obviously failed at research. She had only known of Tiber Septim who became Talos, God of War, and prompting the Eight to become Nine. What interested her a lot more than the new names was the whole possibility of stealing the power of a dragon. Why hadn’t she heard that before? “Well, I am afraid that I have never slain a dragon. I can tell you that I did not learn how to Shout from the Greybeards, but I did learn it.” By being Shouted at by the Dragon of Helgen. “So, I guess that means that I am not the Dragonborn?”

Jarl Kralder stroked his beard. “Apparently not. I will not be surprised if you are not hailed as a Dragonborn anyway. This returning of dragons has all the bards singing the old songs of dragons. That settles the most important question. However, you are still a Tongue, even if you are not Dragonborn. That means your opinions will carry weight and you invoked both Talos and Ulfric during your duel. If I were you, I would beware the Thalmor.”

“Thank you for the warning. Ancano has already threatened me.” She shrugged. “Perhaps it is the Thalmor that should beware of me. As for invoking Talos, I did do that. Just to be clear, I am more of the opinion of Jarl Balgruuf. The people should be free to worship Talos, but we should not take up arms against the Empire because of it.”

“And what good does that serve?” questioned Jarl Kralder. “The war drags on and Nords kill Nords.”

“That I cannot answer.” At least not here. Either the Archmage or Mirabelle had loose lips. Word about her having noble blood has spread awfully quickly. She also wasn’t sure how friendly the Archmage was with Ancano.

“In war there are often no good answers, lass,” replied the jarl.

“Ah yes, and now we’re exchanging empty platitudes. Spare me the politics,” complained Archmage Savos. “Are you done talking with Apprentice Daenerys?”

“For now. Although…” He eyed Daenerys. “If you are ever in the city, stop by the Jarl’s longhouse. We should have a long talk when things are not so hectic. I think a certain priest of Talos would like to speak with you as well.”

“Yes, yes. That’s well and good. Another time.” Savos waved a hand at Daenerys. “Apprentice you can leave now.”

.oOo.

The final day of the year was another holiday. This one would not be celebrated in the dining hall, but in small gatherings scattered across the college. Daenerys wasn’t attending any of them. Brelyna had something important she wanted to discuss, but she was being strangely vague about it. Even more curious, Brelyna had asked her to wait outside while she ‘prepared’ the room.

After several minutes of waiting Brelyna finally opened the door. “You can come in now.”

Their room looked completely different. A small round table with two chairs had been moved into the center of the room. Brelyna had stored most of their possessions away and covered the furniture with blankets so there was nothing personal visible in the room.

Brelyna moved to the table and sat down. “Please, join me.” She looked very Dunmer, all dour and serious.

Daenerys set down in the chair opposite. “Brel, what’s all this about?”

“Today is the last day of the year. Tomorrow, we celebrate the New Life festival, a time for looking ahead to the future. Today, we celebrate the Old Life festival. For my family this is a time to look back on our past, to remember and reflect. We have been roommates for months now and I trust you as much as I have trusted anyone in my life. The time has come for me to tell you my story.”


	20. Chapter 19

# Chapter 19

Middas, the 31st of Evening Star, Year 201 of the 4th Era

Daenerys could tell that Brelyna was serious about wanting to share her story. It also made her nervous. “Brelyna, I would be honored to hear your story, but I’m not sure I’m ready to share my own. I don’t want to make things awkward between us.”

Brelyna smiled. “And that is one of the reasons that I have decided that I can trust you because you understand the power of secrets. Sometimes secrets are bartered, and their worth is more than any coin. I know you have many secrets. They lurk about you like bats in the night. I do this freely, asking nothing in return. This is a gift of trust from me to you.”

“I understand.” Even though this was a gift, Daenerys knew she would feel almost obligated to reciprocate. However, to refuse would be an insult to their friendship, and that was far too precious for her to throw away. “I am honored to listen.”

“Then first a small secret. It is not much of one as I am Dunmer, but I honor the Three Good Daedra. I would like to invoke Mephala, if that would not offend you.”

“She is the goddess of secrets, correct? Go ahead.” She was already involved with Azura. What was one more Daedra?

“The goddess of secrets is an oversimplification, but thank you. Please stay seated while I make a few preparations.” Brelyna stood and opened a chest that was almost invisible in the darkness of the room. She took from the chest two candles, one white and the other black. Then she removed a bundle of herbs and set them alight. She made a circle about the room waving the bundle of herbs and filling the room with their scent and smoke. She then lit a wooden taper and in one swift motion doused the torch by plunging it into a water bucket. The darkness seemed to gather about. The only light was the tiny flame dancing at the end of the wooden taper. Brelyna sat down holding the taper between them.

“Mephala, Dark Mother, one of your children calls to you. Goddess of Creation. Goddess of Destruction. I call to you on this night, the turning of the year. Tonight, the old year dies. Tomorrow, the new year is born. It is a time for reflection upon the past. Secrets long held will be shared this night. Let them bind us in darkness. We invite you to witness.” She touched the taper to the wick of the black candle, and it caught immediately. With a flick of her wrist, Brelyna snuffed the taper so only the black candle remained burning.

“Mephala, Dark Mother, we honor you. It is through you that we know the secret that should be no secret. Pain, sorrow, decay, death, and destruction cannot be overcome by denying them. They cannot be explained away. They are inevitable parts of life. Denying them is futile. We must accept these parts of existence. Your gift is freedom. The freedom of the child to dance in the moment, because moments are all we have. We accept that death will come. We live surrounded by a web of lies, of practicality, of rationality. You are our Dark Mother. You are the Webspinner. From you we learn to weave instead of being ensnared.”

Brelyna then picked up the black candle. “Darkness is a cloak to protect secrets, but the power of secrets comes from their truth.” She touched the black candle to the white one, lighting it. “Burn away illusion from our minds and vision. Let us speak with clarity so the truth is manifest.”

Daenerys watched the ritual with interest. It was all very dramatic and also very religious. Whether Mephala was actually listening or not, she couldn’t say. After all, a goddess of secrets could hardly be expected to loudly announce her presence.

Brelyna set the black candle back down. “My name is Brelyna Maryon of House Telvanni. I was born in Tel Mithryn, on the island of Solstheim in the home of my enemy. I name him. My enemy is Neloth of House Telvanni. My story is the story of two great mages. Neloth is the first. He is very old and very powerful. He is without question the most powerful wizard in House Telvanni, perhaps the most powerful Dunmer wizard now living. Like a rare few other powerful mages throughout history, he seems to age very slowly, and he does not sleep. Only two things matter to him: knowledge and power.

“This is the story of another mage. He lived in Morrowind before Baar Dua fell, before the Red Mountain erupted, before the Third Era ended. He was renown as a Master of Conjuration and a teacher of magic. Other mages came from far away to study from him, for there were spells that he was known to teach to those who had both the talent and the gold. Spells powerful and dangerous that are now almost lost to time. He was also a member of House Telvanni. While he was also a powerful and wise man, he was loyal to his family. I name him. He was Felen Maryon, and he was my great-grandfather.

“As the third era was drawing to a close, my great-grandfather started studying another path – Shadow Magic. About the magic of Shadows much is claimed, but little is known. That shadows can be used to drain the life of others and strengthen the caster is most likely true. That Shadow Magic can be used to reach other realms, other worlds… so it has been claimed, but there is little proof.”

Daenerys was enthralled by the entire story, but she certainly noticed the mention of other worlds. She kept listening and didn’t interrupt, but she would certainly be looking into Shadow Magic.

“I don’t know how deeply my ancestor dived into Shadow magic. I just know that Neloth coveted his knowledge, and when Neloth wants knowledge he will let nothing stand in his way. So, he had some of his agents kidnap the family of Felen Maryon. Then he sent back some of them in pieces and demanded that my great-grandfather reveal all he knew of Shadow Magic.

“I believe that Felen Maryon would have yielded, for he loved his family. However, fate intervened. Baar Dua fell, Red Mountain erupted, and my great-grandfather died taking whatever he might have known about Shadow Magic with him to the grave. Neloth was left with a great many hostages for which he no longer had much use. Some he used for his experiments. Some he set free. A few he kept on and made into servants, forcing them to tend his farms, raise his crops and wait upon him in Tel Mithryn. One such unwilling servant was my grandfather, Zion Maryon.

“Time passed. Zion Maryon had a daughter of his own, Derayna, who is my mother. It is difficult to speak of my mother… I have heard she was very beautiful, but also vain and arrogant in the way that beautiful women can be. She never really developed herself either physically or magically, but she didn’t have the chance. One day, when she was younger than I am now, she simply disappeared. A few days later she returned home to my grandfather. In those few days she had aged. She looked a century older: her hair was grey and brittle, her skin wrinkled, and her mind broken. My mother is a simpleton now. Nothing ever bothers her. She is always pleasant. You can slap her face and she’ll just smile back at you. She works as a maid, cleaning, cooking, and emptying chamber pots. Some days, she recognizes me. Most of the time she doesn’t. No one says anything about her disappearance. No one saw anything, but I know Neloth did that to her. Perhaps he stole her youth to stay young. Perhaps it was just one of his experiments. I doubt that I will ever know. I am her only child, born some months after the incident.

“Neloth is my enemy. He kidnapped my family. He made us his servants. He broke my mother. He is also my father. I don’t think he even knows. My mother meant so little in his eyes, that he did not notice her pregnancy or my birth. She was just an ingredient that he needed. Someday, Mephala help me, I am going to end him.” Brelyna took a deep and bowed her head a little.

Daenerys met her friend’s gaze. “And when you do, I will be by your side.” She meant it with every part of her being. Missandei had given her loyalty. She had taken it and given nothing in return. Brelyna had given her friendship. This time she wasn’t going to take and not give back. “It is a night for secrets. You said that truth makes secrets powerful. I believe that. I also believe that when two people share their secrets, it binds them together. Tonight, it is time for me to speak of my secrets, and the person I choose to hear them is you.”

Brelyna bowed her head. “I am honored to listen to your secrets, and I will seal them in my heart, in the darkness, and keep them.”

“Before I begin, I’m curious. We have been roommates for months. You know me better than any in Skyrim, and you are one of the most intelligent people I know. What you have deduced about me?”

Brelyna smiled. “Oh, you are a mystery, Dany. At first, I thought you were from a sleepy backwater of the Empire. There are places in Morrowind where Dunmeri is the only spoken tongue, but it doesn’t fit. You struggle with Cyrodilic, but there is so much more you don’t know. Like the holidays, the gods, and even the seasons. You are not from Tamriel. I am pretty sure you aren’t from Akavir, Aldmeris, Pyandonea, or Yokuda, although you could be. We know more about Oblivion than we know of those lands. However, you don’t fit the little we do know. I considered Atmora in the frozen north, but you wear furs enchanted for warmth, yet you still shiver. So, you seem to be from no known continent.

“However, there are islands. Many in the Eltheric Ocean to the west of Tamriel, but you arrived in Skyrim, so instead we should look to the Padomaic Ocean to the east and north. There we find some possibilities. We know of one island to the north, Roscrea. Conquered by Uriel Septim V in the third era, it was later annexed by Solitude and is still technically part of Solitude. Although I imagine the people who live there would be surprised to hear it. However, you’re obviously not comfortable with the cold, so instead, we should look east. There we find three islands known to be inhabited by men: Cathnoquey, Yneslea, and Esroniet. These were also conquered by Uriel Septim V with his armada during his failed attempt to invade Akavir. We still trade with Esroniet, spices mostly: nutmeg, cloves, and hot peppers. It’s a tropical land inhabited by men of short stature and tanned skins. You are short, but tan you are not. About Cathnoquey and Yneslea I could find almost nothing. They were inhabited by men, had settlements large enough to be called cities, and were conquered by Uriel Septim’s armada. You could easily be from one of those islands, or some other island between here and Akavir. It’s a large ocean. So, that’s possible”

Daenerys smiled. “You say it like you don’t believe it.”

“That’s the sensible theory, but we have lived together for months. You are not like any other human that I have ever met. For a long time, you were trying to hide, now you barely bother. I suppose you might be some noble in exile, but why walk from Whiterun to Winterhold just to attend the College? I think there is another explanation.”

“Go on then,” urged Daenerys. This was interesting.

“I doubt you have read them, but the 36 Lessons of Vivec are sacred texts. They are challenging to read, part political commentary, part religion, part history, and part utter nonsense. They are often allegorical but full of truth. In these lessons Vivec sometimes mentions the Adjacent Place, a world next to ours, but one that cannot be reached by any cardinal direction. A world that is sideways from our own. I think you are from an Adjacent Place because even when you tried to hide, you made ripples. Now that you aren’t hiding you are making waves. Wherever you came from, you were someone important, and I cannot believe any island was big enough for you.”

Daenerys was just speechless. She hadn’t thought it possible for anyone to ever guess that she was from another world. However, Brelyna had just proved her wrong.

“Ha!” crowed Brelyna. “The look on your face! By the gods I was right!”

“You were right,” acknowledged Daenerys. “I was born somewhere else entirely. Even the stars were different and the seasons. Yours are so strange. Three months of winter, three months of spring, three months of summer, and three months of autumn, a repeating yet predictable cycle. In the land of my home, the seasons lasted for years and we never knew for how long. Nations stored food in summer and autumn against starvation in winter. Nirn cannot possibly be the same world as Vys.”

“Vys,” repeated Brelyna. “That’s the name of your world?”

She shrugged. “It depends on who you ask. Vys in Valyrian, Planetos in Westerosi, Rhaesheseres in Dothraki. I’m sure it has other names in other languages that I never learned.”

Brelyna laughed. “Oh, that’s hilarious. There were some fools who thought you were a dullard when you first arrived because you didn’t speak proper Tamrelic, and you’re fluent in four languages.”

“Almost five, I’ve been studying Dovahzul.” Although she knew she wasn’t pronouncing things correctly. The codex she was studying merely approximated the way the Words were spoken.

“And you’re learning the Dragontongue.” Brelyna laughed so hard she started coughing.

Daenerys stood up and patted her friend on the back. “Easy there.”

“I’m fine. I just can’t believe I was right. You’re truly from another world.”

“Do you think others suspect?” Daenerys hadn’t even considered it a possibility, but Brelyna had proved her wrong.

Brelyna gave a short bark of derisive laughter. “No. I still can’t believe that I was right. Most think you’re from some backwater province of Tamriel. Some Nords argue for Atmora. A few who are wiser believe you are from an island in the Padomaic Ocean. I’ll take your secret to the grave, and I would be deeply honored to hear your story.”

She sat back down and gestured at the candles. “I don’t know the proper ritual words. Would you do the honors?”

“None are needed. I know that you don’t follow Mephala. You can just speak.”

“I don’t follow her, but you do. She is obviously important to you. We didn’t profane the ritual just now did we?”

Brelyna shook her head. “A friendship bound stronger by secrets? Vows in the darkness to kill an enemy more powerful than either of us? Mysteries of another world? All of these would honor Mephala. We’re still in the circle, so there is no need to invoke her again, but I will say a few words.”

She bowed her head and resumed talking in solemn tones. “Mephala, Dark Mother, we honor you. Tonight, at the turning of the year, two have come together in the darkness. One has shared a secret freely. One wishes to share in return. Secrets are lighter than a spider’s web, but they bind together more surely than love or hate. Tonight, secrets will be spoken that have never before been given voice in the history of this world.” Brelyna gave a little nod.

Daenerys picked up the cue. “I am Daenerys of the House Targaryen, the First of Her Name, the Unburnt, Queen of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the First Men, Queen of Meereen, Khaleesi of the Great Grass Sea, Protector of the Realm, Uncrowned Queen of the Seven Kingdoms, Breaker of Chains, and Mother of Dragons. My father, King Aerys the Second, died months before I was born. His death ended a bloody civil war. My mother, Rhaella, pregnant with me fled to our ancestral home, Dragonstone. She gave birth to me at the height of a violent storm and died shortly after…

She didn’t even try to tell her entire story. She touched lightly on her childhood both in exile and as a beggar on the streets. Just enough to make it clear that while she was of royal blood she had not been raised as a princess. She slowed down to describe the first turning point of her life when her brother sold her to Khal Drogo for the promise of an army of Dothraki warriors to reclaim the Iron Throne. She had to explain the whole concept of Dothraki, of nomads so fierce that none dared settle in the fertile lands of the Great Grass Sea. She described how her wedding was followed by being taken against her will in front of the whole Khalasar. She was brutally honest that Khal Drogo had treated her as nothing but a slave at first. How she had learned to submit and please him. That in doing so she had not only tamed her savage Khal but even found love herself. She told of his wound that had festered and the treachery of Mirri Maz Duur. She spoke of how she walked into the fire, an act of pure faith in her dreams and intuitions. She had not been certain she would survive but survive she did and walked out the Mother of Dragons.

She continued on telling her story in more detail than she had planned, but she found herself swept up in the retelling. The Red Wastes, the warlocks of Qarth that had thought her but a foolish girl and had tried to steal her dragons. The masters of Astapor who had thought to cheat her, and how she had betrayed them and stolen her army of Unsullied.

As Daenerys spun out her story, it was not the events that touched her, not her victories, nor her defeats. It was the people. Jorah Mormont; betrayer, would-be lover, almost father that she had never had. Barristan Selmy; acknowledged the greatest warrior in the world and the most honorable of man – struck down by an ambush. Gentle Missandei, loyal Grey Worm, and Drogo Hizdahr zo Loraq. Looking back her second marriage had been so sad. She had never loved or trusted him, but she had been willing to pay any price to buy peace for her people – yet that had failed. As she continued events built upon events. The ones who were truly loyal were pushed away and others took their places. It was so hard at the end, speaking of how the victory over the Night King had all fallen apart.

And then she came to the bitter tragic end. “If Jon Snow killed me for burning King’s Landing, I think that I forgive him. I don’t know why I thought it necessary. King’s Landing isn’t like the ‘cities’ of Skyrim. It was the capital of the Seven Kingdoms. Hundreds of thousands lived in the city, and they had called in all the peasants from the countryside, so more than that were sheltering for the siege. I burned them. Some lived, but I killed hundreds of thousands and thought it necessary, even good. I set out to break the wheel, and I crushed everyone beneath me to gain the top.” And she still couldn’t explain why she had thought it necessary to make them bow. Was that why she’d hidden in Riverwood for so long? Why she had continued to be meek? But she couldn’t hide from herself. “I think that I went mad, because… I just can’t understand why. It wasn’t necessary, or good, but selfish and evil, so why?”

“I cannot judge you, Daenerys. You have already been judged by the gods themselves. They found you worthy of a second chance, or you would not be here. I know this, you are not evil. Would you tell me the rest? About how you came to be here?”

“I don’t know. I woke up naked in a pile of hot ashes in a large basin of stone. I was found by Imperials. I couldn’t speak the language, but they caught me and forced me to march barefoot and naked for miles. They whipped me when I didn’t go fast enough. I thought that it was punishment. The Imperials were going to execute me. I was literally bent over the chopping block waiting for the axe to fall. Then the dragon of Helgen attacked. He was old, powerful, magnificent. He saved me. That’s where I learned the Shout, Yol.”

“Wait, wait. You were reborn, and the dragon of Helgen, the first of the returning dragons, saved you? That cannot be coincidence. The rumors must be true. You really are Dragonborn.”

Daenerys nodded. “Yes, I am.”


	21. Chapter 20

# Chapter 20

Sundas, the 4th of Morning Star, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Apparently, Jarl Karldar had been sincere in wanting to speak with her. A letter on parchment bearing his seal was delivered to the College requesting her appearance in his court on Sundas. Despite being worded as a request, the letter was clearly a summons. That the jarl had specified Sundas, the one day she was free to leave the College without requesting permission, was also significant. It was no secret that Jarl Kraldar had met with Archmage Savos multiple times. He could have easily asked for her to be excused, but he had not. Perhaps the new jarl was more perceptive than she’d given him credit for being.

Daenerys decided to bring only Sofija with her. While Sofija was only a novitiate, Jarl Kraldar would have his followers. Unless she was greatly mistaken this meeting would be about politics. While she was a minor piece, she was now caught up in the game of thrones. Bringing a follower of her own was a statement about her influence. It also meant that she had a witness on her side. Daenerys pulled the hood of her cloak down to cover her face and wrapped herself tightly to keep warm. Given that it was still winter, she didn’t attract notice. Even many of the Nords wore cloaks pulled low against the icy winds coming off the Sea of Ghosts.

When she arrived at the Jarl’s longhouse, she was ushered into a war room adjacent to the throne room. The main fixture of the room was a table bearing a large map of Skyrim laid marked with little red and blue pennants showing the status of Imperial and Stormcloak forces. A serving girl offered to bring her refreshments and shortly returned with a mug of mulled wine. Daenerys studied the map and sipped the hot spiced wine while she waited. She didn’t have to wait long.

Jarl Kraldar entered with a gracious wave and a smile. “Daenerys of the House Targaryen, thank you for accepting my invitation.”

Daenerys rose and gave a curtsey out of respect for his position. “Thank you, for inviting me.” She returned to her seat.

The jarl’s housecarl, Thonjolf, entered and closed the door behind him. He silently went to stand behind Jarl Kraldar, mirroring the position that Sofija took behind her. Now all the pieces were in place. Daenerys sipped her wine and waited for the jarl to explain why he wanted to see her.

Jarl Kraldar didn’t disappoint. “I had the feeling that there was more that you wanted to say to me when we last spoke, but you held back. Is that correct?”

Daenerys smiled. “Indeed. I’m pleased you understood. Archmage Savos is a powerful wizard, but he is not a politician. Nor should he be; the College of Winterhold should stand above such things. However, I don’t think he appreciates that some discussions should be kept discrete, especially with Justiciar Ancano visiting the College.”

“Are you saying that Archmage Savos would tell the Thalmor?” He seemed upset by the suggestion.

“No, no, no, not at all. I’m suggesting that he would likely tell his faculty, who he trusts, but that’s seven mouths who might gossip. I’m not speculating widely. In a private meeting with him and his deputy, I mentioned being of noble blood. Within days the entire College knew. Just because he is a magical genius, does not mean he is adept at politics.”

Jarl Kraldar nodded sadly. “Ah, that I understand. Yes, with Ancano in the College I agree that it is best that certain sensitive discussions be kept close.” He sighed. “Very well. You were discussing that you were more of the opinion of Jarl Balgruuf. You came here from Whiterun. What do you know about his neutrality?”

“I do not know anything as such, but I will tell you of my own beliefs. Jarl Balgruufs actions lead me to believe that he is of a similar mind. The people should be free to worship Talos as they please, but we should not be fighting the Empire. That’s what the Thalmor wants. Skyrim fighting the Empire only benefits the Aldmeri Dominion. After the secession of Hammerfell, the Empire can hardly afford to lose another province.”

He sighed. “So you said, but meanwhile Nords are killing Nords. The Empire is already here in Skyrim hunting down the Stormcloaks.”

“Is the Empire really doing that? They could be attacking cities, but they are not. In fact, they seem mostly content to hold the territory that has declared for them. They’re trying not to escalate things. There is fighting in the open land between holds, but this war is not being actively fought by either side.” Daenerys paused weighing her words carefully. “If anything, the Empire is being retaliatory instead of taking the fight to Ulfric.”

“There is some truth to that, but I don’t see your point.”

Daenerys sipped her wine. “Simply this. Don’t press the war. Instead, the Stormcloaks should consider suing for peace. Have the Empire recognize Skyrim’s right to religious freedom and recognize Ulfric as High King. Skyrim agrees to rejoin the Empire under the same terms Morrowind joined – they get to keep their religious beliefs.”

“That breaks the White-Gold Concordat,” replied Jarl Kralder, but he sounded intrigued.

Daenerys shrugged. “It’s just a treaty. If the Empire recognizes Skyrim’s right to religious freedom, that’s another treaty. The Thalmor will be upset, but I doubt they’re ready to go to war. If they were, they would be doing so now instead of turning Skyrim against the Empire. What’s more, it has already been one human generation since the White-Gold Concordat was signed. How many mer generations has it been?”

“Half a generation for Altmer at best. Other mer are more fertile and shorter-lived.” He wagged a finger. “I’ve heard this argument. You believe The Aldmeri Dominion would not have sued for terms if they could have continued fighting, and while both empires are still recovering, humans recover faster.”

“Indeed, that was my point. We know the war is coming. If we wait until the Aldmeri Dominion is ready, then we have already lost. That’s why the Thalmor wants Skyrim to rebel. That’s how they keep us weak while they grow stronger. Avoid their trap. Do you think the Empire wanted to ban Talos worship? They try to ignore that law as much as they can. Give the Empire a chance to have Skyrim returned to the fold without bloodshed and thumb their nose at the Aldmeri Dominion? What would you do in the Emperor’s place?”

“It's more than likely that the Empire didn't care if Talos was worshipped in secret, but the moment Ulfric made his move, they were forced to react. Something which the Thalmor has taken ruthless advantage of by driving the purge, yet only offering peripheral support of their own,” Daenerys explained. “With Skyrim in open revolt, the Empire is weakened, and the Dominion gains the advantage. The Thalmor won’t stop until they see Ayleid Empire restored and every human in chains. Who is the real enemy?”

“It’s a fair point, but I doubt the Empire would grant Skyrim independence when only four holds are in rebellion. It’s also for Ulfric Stormcloak to decide. I cannot change policy from here in Winterhold. My people are going to join the Stormcloaks if they want.”

“Not if you give them something else that needs doing. I can think of at least two things I would do in your place.”

“Really, now?” Jarl Kraldar leaned forward. “And what would you do? Rebuild Winterhold?”

“Yes, but I wouldn’t make that a priority. I would build towers around the city and place ballista on top of them. That is more for defense against dragons more than to protect against an Imperial invasion. Dragonhide is too thick for arrows to pierce unless you are incredibly lucky. A ballista bolt can kill a dragon. That would be my highest priority because even after you build the towers and ballista, it will take time to train men to use them. If you want to rebuild Winterhold, the towers can later be incorporated into a wall around the city.”

“Would that do any good? Dragons are fast flyers from what I’ve heard.”

“They are, but they’ll also hover in place to attack. I was at Helgen, I saw it happen. Archers did nothing. Imperial battlemages did nothing. Right now if a dragon attacked, all you could do is pray to the gods.” Perhaps with all the mages in the College, it would be different. Especially if they didn’t attack a dragon with fire, but still this was something the jarl could easily do to protect his people.

“It’s good advice. If that is your first priority, what is your second?”

“Let me ask you a question, how big is your navy?”

“Navy? Winterhold doesn’t have a navy to speak of. I believe Jarl Korir had a personal vessel for hold business. That defaulted to me, but I haven’t given it any thought.”

Daenerys nodded. That was what she expected. She had seen the beach around Winterhold and the little island north of the College held only fishing boats. “We eat a lot of fish at the College. I imagine you do as well in the city. This isn’t good land for farming. The Empire does have a navy. So does Solitude. What would happen if they simply parked two warships off the coast and sank every fishing boat that tried to sail?”

Behind Jarl Kraldar his housecarl went suddenly pale.

“By Ysmir! We could survive without the fishing fleet at least during the summer months, but we’d starve come winter, and we could do nothing to stop them.”

She merely nodded her agreement. Jarl Kraldar had taken her bait. “Then my advice to you on what to do about the civil war is to put your people to work and build some ships. Perhaps on that fishing island north of the College. If Ulfric asks what you are doing for the war, tell him you’re preparing to take the fight to Solitude.” Which would help Winterhold in the short term, but more importantly would trigger a naval build-up. All the kingdoms of men should be focusing more on their naval forces. Why nobody seemed to realize that obvious military truth was beyond her.

“I will certainly be telling him that. To be honest the thought of taking the fight to Solitude by sea is a damn good idea as well. Fat merchant ships sail in and out of Solitude every day. Winterhold could fill its coffers raiding that trade and send a stronger message to the Empire than all of Ulfric’s posturing. Let the East Empire Company lose a few cargos and the Empire would surely take notice.”

“I think you might be counting your ships before they’re built.”

“True enough!” Jarl Kraldar laughed loudly. “Still it’s worth thinking about. Although…” He paused and stroked his beard. “There are a lot of pirates operating on the Sea of Ghosts. I wonder how many would like to call themselves privateers, give Winterhold a cut in return for a safe harbor and a place to sell their goods.”

It was a good idea. She didn’t approve of pirates. They were just thieves with boats, but it cost Jarl Kraldar very little, would hurt the Imperials, and enrich his coffers. In the long term it would help trigger a naval build-up. Something she should at least mention. “You do realize the Empire will counter by authorizing privateers of their own?”

“Naturally, but that will take time. By then Winterhold could have a few ships of our own. Although first I’d have to find pirates willing to sit still and talk to make the offer.”

Daenerys shook her head. “You obviously haven’t been to the fishing village north of Winterhold lately. Those people are dirt poor and hostile to outsiders. I’d bet that staff you gave me that some of them are smuggling at least. I wouldn’t be surprised if some of them aren’t related to pirates or actual pirates themselves. It’s not like anyone in Winterhold keeps watch of what comes in by sea.”

“No, we haven’t been.” He sighed. “You were a ruler somewhere, weren’t you lass? Before you were forced into exile? You grasp this too well.”

Daenerys thought of Brelyna and how secrets shared bound them together. “What I say here does not go beyond this room? Not even to Ulfric?”

“I swear, not even to my wife.”

“I was Queen of Meereen in the lands of the East once.” For that was what Essos meant, the lands of the East.

“I knew it!” He grinned. “I don’t suppose you’ll share the story?”

Daenerys shook her head. “Maybe someday, but not today.”

“Then I won’t press you, but you have proven to me to be both wise and honorable. The people of my hold call you a hero. Daenerys of House Targaryen, I name you Thane of Winterhold.”

For a moment she was shocked, but she recovered quickly. “I am grateful for the honor, Jarl Kraldar, but I am an outlander. I am not sure that I can live up to the responsibilities of that title. What are the duties of a thane?”

Behind her she heard Sofija give a little sigh of frustration. No doubt she had just asked something stupidly obvious to Nords.

“A thane is a title of recognition for those who have done great deeds and service to the hold. Thanes are considered unlanded nobles. It entitles you to dine at my table and means that I may call upon you at times for advice, to lend aid in war, or in some other service.”

That was about what she thought. “I would like to respectfully decline. I am first and foremost a student of the College of Winterhold. I will gladly advise you, but I am not prepared to swear fealty to you.”

“Ah, I understand now. You were a queen. It’s not so easy for you to bend the knee, or even to tie yourself to one place, perhaps? While thanes usually swear to the Jarl, it is not a requirement. I grant you the title with no strings, Daenerys Targaryen. I may ask for your help or advice, but it will be a request, not the order of your jarl.”

“Then I accept.” She didn’t have much choice. Refusing a second time would be unforgivably rude.

“Good!” Jarl Kraldar stood up. “Now, would you introduce me to your retainer? If she is to be your housecarl, then I should know her name.”

.oOo.

Daenerys made a stop at the Frozen Hearth before returning to the College. As soon as she entered all eyes turned upon her. Several of them bowed their heads deeply out of respect. The attention was unwelcome as she wanted to be discrete, but it was not unexpected. Most of them just looked.

The innkeeper came out from behind his bar to greet her. “Lady Targaryen. Look. I’m sorry about the… unpleasantness the last time you visited. It won’t happen again. Whatever you would like, food, drink, it’s on the house.”

This was the first time anyone in Skyrim had called her Lady. Apparently, the people of Winterhold held more respect for her than the students at the College. “Thank you, I may have some mulled wine before I leave, but first I would like to speak with one of your guests, a mage by the name of Nelacar.”

“Oh, of course. His room is right here.” The innkeeper knocked on the door. “Nelacar, Nelacar, open up.”

Nelacar opened the door suddenly. He was an Altmer, gold of skin with sharp features and a haughty air about him. “What?! I’ve already paid for the week, and I already told you the smell was just a minor miscalculation. It won’t happen again.”

“It’s fine. Actually, no it’s not fine, but that’s not why I’m here. You have a guest, the Lady Targaryen.”

Nelacar looked over at her. “Oh, well that’s different. I’m always happy to meet a lady.” He bowed formally. “Nelacar, at your service. Won’t you come in?”

Daenerys entered with Sofija following behind her. The room was a bit larger than most for an inn, but still just a single room. There was a small bed in the corner, a bench covered with enchanting supplies, a large bookshelf, and a small table with only one chair. “It’s rather cozy, but this will do.” She looked at the innkeeper. “Would you bring in another chair, please?”

“Oh, of course. Right away.” He hurried off and returned shortly with another chair.

“Thank you.” Daenerys sat and waited for the innkeeper to depart. The fewer people learning she was interested in a Daedric artifact the better.

Nelacar sat in the other chair. “So, how can I be of assistance? Are you interested in my research?”

“Actually, I’m interested in an incident that happened at the College before I arrived. I understand it involved Azura’s Star and a student’s death.”

“Who sent you? Was it the College? The Jarl? We agreed there would be no more questions.”

This is where she needed to tread lightly. “None of those. Since the duel, I have found myself caught up in politics between the new Jarl and the College. When you’re involved in politics, it helps to know where the skeletons are buried.”

“Politics.” Nelacar crossed his arms. “And the people distrust mages. Why would I want these skeletons uncovered? What’s in it for me?”

Did he want gold? She had brought her coin purse with her. Inside was half her remaining funds, money she would need to hire mercenaries, but even then it wouldn’t go very far. She reached into her purse and grabbed a handful of coins without bothering to count and placed them on the table. “Would that help make it worth your while?”

Nelacar sighed. “A few coins for my soul? If only you understood the irony. What do you know about soul gems?”

“Not much. I know they’re used in enchanting. Basically, they’re the fuel, but I’m still learning to identify the enchantment upon an item. I don’t know the details.”

“You know more than most. They are indeed used to power enchantments. The problem is that the gem is always consumed. They’re frail. Except for one, Azura’s Star. A Daedric artifact that allows any number of souls to pass through it. Some of us wanted to find out how. I was working under Malyn Varen, then. If only we knew what he was really planning. Malyn wanted to alter the Star. He was dying. Disease. He thought he could store his own soul inside and become immortal. I mentioned how the Star is a soul gem, only it never gets depleted? There's another rule the artifact follows. You can only store white souls in the Star, belonging to the lesser creatures. Azura's magic won't allow black souls to enter it. As a mortal, Malyn's soul was black, so part of his work was breaking past Azura's rules. He was close before it drove him mad.”

“It? Dying or the Star?”

“The Star. You need to understand that Azura is no ordinary Daedra. She commands an entire realm inside of Oblivion. The more Malyn worked on the Star, the more she was able to damn him. It started slowly at first. Malyn would see things that weren't there. Then he would yell at students over words they hadn't said. Then one day I walked in and Malyn had... killed a student, and in a horrific moment of inspiration, he started using her soul for his work."

“So, you killed him?”

“What? No! I reported him to the Archmage. She wasn’t his first victim. The College expelled him. He took a few loyal disciples to Ilinalta's Deep and vanished.”

Ilinalta’s Deep! That was what she came for. She had a location now. However, she still had to play out her role. “But why simply expelled him? If he was guilty of murder, he should have been tried and executed. Isn’t he probably still out there? Still murdering people for his experiments.”

“I don’t know! Maybe. There. You have your ‘skeleton’, and I have my gold. Now leave me be.”

Daenerys rose. “As you wish.” She left the mage in his room with his regrets. She wasn’t that impressed with him. Nor with what she had learned about Archmage Savos. She had her location, Ilinalta’s Deep. She could research that in the College library. However, taking on a coven of mages sounded more dangerous than exploring a Nord barrow. Was she really destined to retrieve Azura’s Star? Or was Azura manipulating her?


	22. Chapter 21

# Chapter 21

Sundas, the 4th of Morning Star to Fredas, the 27th of Sun's Dawn, Year 202 of the 4th Era

With Faralda’s guidance Daenerys managed to cast Sparks before the month of Morning Star was over. Faralda was especially pleased because Daenerys had now met the minimum standards that she demanded of her apprentices: Flames, Frost, and Sparks, plus one apprentice level spell. Since they were planning on leaving the College in a few weeks, Faralda suggested that Daenerys focus on learning magic from other schools. She would still be able to tutor Daenerys in Destruction magic as they traveled, but Daenerys would no longer have access to the wisdom of the masters of the other schools. She also wanted Daenerys to teach her to cast the Shove spell to see if could cast it based on a Seeming instead of **Fus**.

Daenerys followed this advice, but like anything worth learning, mastering magic was a slow process of both study and practice. She studied the theory, attended all her classes, and practiced diligently. She also decided to select one spell at a time and focus on mastering it. Clairvoyance was the obvious first choice. She could already manage a wisp of smoke. She took the brute force approach, drilling the spell over and over until she was finally able to cast it successfully. The Master of Illusion, Drevis Nerloren, was quite pleased, but Daenerys found the Seeming difficult to maintain. The caster had to convince themselves that what they knew was false, was actually true. It was quite different from the anger and rage of Destruction or the wish for the pain to stop of Restoration. While Drevis claimed that she had made good progress, Daenerys was content to have mastered Clairvoyance and shifted her focus to other schools of magic.

After some consideration Daenerys decided to focus upon learning Bound Dagger next. Both Brelyna and Sofija claimed that Daenerys had the will and determination needed to succeed. Conjuration had numerous applications. She had seen some of the students in spellsword training using conjured blades and with the right advanced techniques, conjured weapons were better than steel. She was also interested in the ability to conjure minions to fight for her.

From the Unsullied and Dothraki to Sniel in Bleak Falls Barrow, people kept dying for her. Back on Plaentos she had been so certain of her cause that the cost hadn’t bothered her. That had led to the burning of King’s Landing. Never again would she discount lives like that. She would learn to fight on her own. She would not ask more of others than she did herself. Yes, she would still need trained warriors to help her fight. Summoning creatures was slow, and they didn’t last long. Nord barrows were dangerous, and Dragur could attack with little warning. However, she could use disposable creatures to help pay the blood cost – if she could master the spells.

Despite her focus on mastering novitiate spells, Daenerys did not neglect her spellsword lessons. She attended every lesson and worked hard to master the techniques. Her duel with Thaena had proved that relying completely upon magic was foolish. After only a few weeks she could feel her body changing in response to the lessons. The aches and pains of exercises were resulting in hard muscle under her softer curves. The stretches were becoming easier as well. In their practice duels, she was still well behind most of the students, but she was getting better. The lessons were also excellent for practicing Restoration. It wouldn't be long before she would be ready to race the dangers of Skyrim.

.oOo.

The 13th of Sun’s Dawn was minor Nord holiday, the Feast of the Dead. The celebration was for remembrance of fallen Nord heroes. Nords being Nords, this remembrance was accomplished by drinking and feasting while the names of all Five Hundred Companions of Ysgramor were recited along with their known deeds. The holiday also featured competitions among bards for both the best story and the best song about the Companions. Like other Nord holidays, the Feast of the Dead was mostly ignored by the College of Winterhold. However, Daenerys, as a Thane of Winterhold, was obligated to attend.

Daenerys had expected it to be a boring affair full of drunk Nords boasting about the heroism of their ancestors. She was only half-right. The Nords were drunk and they did boast loudly about their ancestors, but it wasn’t entirely boring. Jarl Kraldar had neglected to tell her that this was her introduction to Nord politics. While most of the population drank heavily and celebrated, she was introduced to all the jarl’s thanes and landed nobles of Winterhold. All of them wanted to congratulate her on her duel and ask her advice about every issue that was facing Winterhold because Jarl Kraldar had not only acted on all her advice but also credited the ideas to her. The town had already built three ballistae and was training men to use them. They were also raising a tower and laying the keels for two new ships. Daeneys was also unsurprised to learn that her idea to spread the offer of pirates turning privateer in the fishing village had born fruit. One pirate had already accepted the Jarl’s offer and two more were negotiating through intermediaries.

Now they all wanted advice about a new threat – vampires. In the process of clearing some of the old ruined homes to make way for a tower, they had uncovered two vampires sheltering in the basement. While there were only two found, vampires were now presumed to be the cause of the disappearances that had happened at isolated farms and even inside the town. More than one thane offered her cautious condolences on the loss of her ‘lover’ Sagyval. It disturbed her that her friend might now be a vampire, but she considered it likely. He had vanished without a trace. He had also mentioned only coming into town at night in his letter. She didn’t have much advice to offer about vampires. She knew almost nothing about them. She made obvious suggestions about having everyone home before dark, locking doors, having the watch patrol in parties of two or more, and trying to contact the Dawnguard for advice. She found herself repeating this same obvious advice over and over. She plastered a smile on her face and reminded herself that these were important people in Winterhold. Nords weren’t tolerant of outsiders in general, but because of her duel and her ability to Shout, she was being treated as one of them.

At the end of the day, Jarl Kraldar thanked her for sharing her wisdom with his court. He had a smug smile on his face as he did it. Maybe he was just a bit drunk, but she had the feeling that the jarl had used her reputation to smooth everything over. If it had been intentional, then there was a canny politician hiding behind the image of a Nord warrior. She wasn’t even that upset. While it had been tedious, she had also made connections that might serve her well in the future.

.oOo.

Students were encouraged to practice outside of regular classes in the Hall of Elements. For most schools of magic, as long as the student was careful in their aim, only light supervision was needed. The exception to that rule was any form of Conjuration magic. All students of apprentice rank and lower had to be under the direct supervision the Master of Conjuration, Phinis Gestor. There was often a line waiting for a turn when he was supervising an open practice day.

Phinis was a middle-aged Breton, perhaps in his early forties, young for a faculty member, but already almost bald. He was a cold-hearted man and the strictest teacher at the College, and for good reason. It was all too easy for novitiates to accidentally summon an unbound Dremora. It hadn’t ever happened to her, but she had seen it happen twice, once in Conjuration class and once in open practice. The Master of Conjuration had immediately banished the unbound Dremora on both occasions. That wasn’t even the worst danger. It was possible for a mage to lose the battle of wills and end up the slave of the Dremora they tried to summon. However, willpower wasn’t the part of Conjuration that gave Daenerys difficulty.

“Well, well, Daenerys Targaryen. Ready to make another attempt?”

“Yes, Master Phinis.” That should be obvious. Why else had she been waiting her turn in line?

“Before you begin, what have you learned from your previous failures?”

“I’m still struggling with the invitation portion of the Seeming. As you’ve described in class, it’s much like fishing. First, one must be sincerely open and inviting – baiting the hook. Then you wait until they’re committed. You don’t strike at the first nibble. Only after they take the bait, do you slam down your will and bind them. I’m fighting back too soon.”

“Good. At least you understand your limitations. I think you’re also not being inviting enough. They’re cautious about taking the bait. Try focusing more on what you will let them do. Daedra are not fools, they know that mages will try to bind them. They hope to slip the noose, but they expect the attempt. It’s the promise of the violence they can do that makes the commit. You want to bind a dagger. Focus on how you will use it, to cut and slash at your enemies, that it will drink blood.”

“I understand.” Daenerys gathered her will. The invitation was part of the focus, she wanted a Daedra to cut, to slash, to rip open her enemies, to feast upon blood. It really was a little like baiting a hook. The problem was that she was the bait. No sooner had she made then invitation than something slimy and filthy accepted. It slipped inside her body using her as an opening into Mundus. She hated the feeling. The spirit was nasty, impure, and hateful. This is where she always failed. She closed the connection too soon. She wanted to fight back, but she didn’t. She let it wriggle inside her. It was vile and evil. She could feel it corrupting her. Letting it remain inside her was just felt so wrong. The longer it stayed, the worse it felt. She couldn’t take it any longer! She slammed down her will and forced it out of her and into the form she had chosen, a small vessel shaped like a dagger. All the filth squeezed forth from her like lancing a boil and appeared in her hand – concentrated evil malice in the form of a dagger.

“There you go.” He nodded in approval but didn’t seem to really care that much. “That wasn’t so hard now, was it?”

She held the thing shaped like a dagger in her hand. She forced a smile in acknowledgment although she felt sick inside. “No, it wasn’t hard,” she lied.

“Now, it should only last a few minutes the first time. Let’s make sure you got the binding right.”

Daenerys nodded and swung the dagger about a few times. Her victory felt so hollow. It wasn’t as bad now that it was outside her body. Although it still reeked of hate and murder. It still wanted to drink blood, but at least it was no longer inside her corrupting her. She held onto it for a minute or two just wanting it to go away. Finally, after what seemed like forever, it vanished.

“Well done, Daenerys. It only took you a few months. That’s really good progress. Get to the back of the line. You can probably get another two summons in before open practice is over.”

Daenerys nodded. She felt used and dirty. It had only been inside her a few moments, but still the sensation lingered.

Brelyna patted her on the back. “It gets easier.”

“I’m sure it does,” agreed Daenerys, but was it getting easier a good thing? She had known from her earlier attempts what Conjuration meant. Mages summoned draemora every day. It was like building up a tolerance to poison. However, the feeling of being defiled still lingered. She had wanted disposable minions, but she wasn’t sure the cost was worth it. She understood now why Masters of Conjuration became unfeeling and numb.

Daenerys practiced Bound Dagger three more times to be sure she could cast it, but she couldn’t do it again. The more that she studied casting magic with a Seeming, the more she understood why Faralda was so excited at the prospect of Shout-based magic. The Nords weren’t wrong to distrust mages. To master Conjuration she would have to continue to allow Draemora to use her body to access Mundus, and the Draemora would only grow in power and evil. If she persisted, there might come a day when she no longer needed warriors of flesh and blood to protect her, but at what cost? She had already fallen to madness once. She feared that if she continued down that path, there would come a day when she simply no longer cared about anything except power. That was not a price she was willing to pay. No, she had been a fool to think she could let corruption inside her and not be stained by it. This was not a path she could safely tread.

Having firmly turned her back on Conjuration, Daenerys had to decide what to study next. While Candlelight was obviously useful, Daenerys had never had more than a flicker of light. The Seeming for Alteration required one to embrace the wonder of childhood and endless possibility. While being reborn in Skyrim should be proof of that anything was possible, Daenerys found it hard to embrace that kind of naivety. She was simply too cynical. After considering what would help her survive Nord barrows the most, Daenerys decided to focus on learning Fast Healing. While it was technically an Apprentice level spell, it would be undoubtably useful. She also had ample opportunity with her spellsword training to practice healing herself.

She had also taken to spending more time in the library. Originally it had been to determine the location of Ilinalta’s Deep. It was located, not surprisingly, on Lake Ilinalta west of Riverwood. That had led her to look up more information about Skyrim and Tamriel. There was much that she still didn’t understand. Her reading speed still wasn’t that good, but she no longer required a dictionary multiple times a page. There was much she wanted to know about dragons and Dragonborn. Faralda guided her to some books, but they were vague and disappointing. She only found two references of Dragonborn absorbing the souls of dragons but details were completely lacking. There were a lot of references to Nord oral tradition and songs that nobody had apparently ever bothered to write down.

Sofija was also studying and practicing diligently. She had clearly taken the command from Daenerys to be ready seriously. While she didn’t have a preferred school of magic, Sofija had picked up quite a few spells that were useful to spellswords: Bound Dagger from the Conjuration School, Fury from the Illusion School, Healing from the Restoration School, and Oakflesh from the Alteration School. She had begged Brelyna for tutoring and finally mastered Bound Sword. Sofija pushed herself even harder in spellsword lessons than she did at studying magic. She had somehow convinced Malak to give her private tutoring and was now holding her own against the better students in the class during their duels.

Sofija wasn’t the only one who seemed more determined. Brelyna was also studying hard. In truth she should be an apprentice already. She was working on apprentice level spells and could summon a Flame Atronach. She was focusing on mastering the Soul Trap spell, something which would aid Brelyna in advancing her enchanting skills. It was only the lack of anyone capable of taking over the senior novitiate position that kept Phinis Gestor from taking her as one of his apprentices. However, everyone knew it was only a matter of time until she was accepted.

.oOo.

Since taking Daenerys as an apprentice, Faralda had made it a point to meet at least once a week in her office to discuss her overall progress. These meetings had gradually become less and less formal. Although Faralda was still her mentor in learning Destruction, she treated Daenerys as an equal partner. Of course, Daenerys teaching her to cast the Shove spell had helped that along greatly.

Daenerys took a sip of her Calen tea before congratulating Faralda. “You’ve obviously mastered the spell. We’ve tested it thoroughly. Even though you’re using a Seeming the results are identical to my casting.”

“Yes,” agreed Faralda with more than a bit of self-satisfaction. “Which is an interesting result. The hard part is conceiving of force as a separate thing in and of itself. While it has some similarities to telekinesis, it clearly belongs in the Destruction school.”

“I admit that it’s interesting, but did it really get us anywhere?” Daenerys sighed. “I’m becoming more and more convinced that we won’t find the answers to shout-based magic here. We’ll only find them out there in Tamriel. Maybe at Word Walls, maybe with the Greybeards.” And with the weather finally growing warmer travel would soon be possible again.

Faralda just grinned over her cup of tea.

“What? Did you actually base your Shove off **Fus**?”

“Oh no, nothing that grand.” Faralda chuckled. “I agree with you. I just know something you don’t. Arniel Gane, one of our Alteration Adepts has been researching the nearby Nord ruins of Saarthal. It’s one of the oldest Nord cities in Tamriel. In fact, according to legend, it is the first Nord city in all of Tamriel. While it is not a barrow, I think it is highly likely there is a Word Wall there. It’s a day’s journey to the north and wouldn’t require going through any dangerous passes. There don’t appear to be any draugr present. At least Arniel hasn’t found any yet. Tolfdir has suggested that some additional hands and eyes might be helpful. Naturally, I put my weight behind the suggestion.” She paused and sipped her tea.

“And? Was it approved?”

“It was indeed. In two weeks we’ll be taking a half-dozen or so interested students. Apprentices and senior novitiates are eligible. It will be a four-day trip. A day there, two days exploring the ruins, and a day back. They haven’t described anything like a Word Wall, but I’m hopeful.”

“That is good news.” She had thought they would be waiting for another month for the snow to melt enough for the passes to be clear. “Will I have difficulty getting one of the open spots?”

“Oh, no.” Faralda smiled. “You’re already on the list.”

“I know it is supposed to be safe, but I’m going to bring the jarl’s gift, the Grand Staff of Repulsion, just in case.”

“Good,” agreed Faralda. “You know, it’s a pity the expedition isn’t happening a few weeks later. There is a dragon peak a few days west of Saarthal. If the passes were clear we could go there after Saarthal.”

“We shouldn’t go near the dragon peaks.” Daenerys knew even as she said the words that Faralda would require reasons which would mean speaking about things she hadn’t even told Brelyna yet. Faralda had accepted that despite her secretive past she had shared everything important, but Faralda wouldn’t let this go easily.

“Why not?” asked Faralda. “It’s just a name. It doesn’t mean they have dragons atop them.”

“They do.” She sighed. “I have dreams. Dragon dreams. They’re true dreams, and in my dreams he is waiting atop a mountain. He’s not the dragon from Helgen, but he’s almost as strong. He’s old, powerful, scarred. His wings are torn, his scales are dull, he’s missing teeth and his horns are chipped, but he’s deadly dangerous. He’s waiting for me.”

“Daenerys, lots of people dream.”

She shook her head sadly. “I know, but when I dream of dragons, I dream true. I’ve done so in the past. It’s a part of my heritage, my bloodline. I’ve told you that my family has links to dragons. All Targaryens have dragon dreams.”

“I see. Well, we can cross off the dragon peaks then. Anything else you want to share?”

“No, not today.” She really didn’t want to talk about dragon dreams. Her dreams had led her to walk into Khal Drogo’s funeral pyre and walk out the Mother of Dragons. However, dragon dreams had driven many of her ancestors mad. Aerion Targaryen had thought that drinking wildfire would turn him into a dragon. Her father, Mad King Aerys, had tried to burn King’s Landing, and she… she had succeeded where her father had failed. But this dream, she knew to be true. Somewhere, atop a lonely mountain, a dragon waited. Someday, she would scale that mountain and face that dragon. Not now. She was not yet ready. But one day, soon, she would be.


	23. Chapter 22

# Chapter 22

Tirdas, the 10th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Time seemed to slow as she waited for the expedition to Saarthal to depart. It turned out that almost every apprentice and all the senior novitiates wanted to come on the expedition. Daenerys could understand why. She was tired of being locked up inside the walls of the College for the long months of winter. From what she had heard most of the students were looking forward to any excuse to get out. After some debate Archmage Savos decided there would be multiple excursions. Each excursion would consist of a small number of students supervised by a faculty member. Daenerys and the other senior novitiates were assigned to the second group. Tolfdir had originally been slated to be in charge, but Faralda swapped with him.

The day after the decision was announced Sofija informed Daenerys that she would be coming along to protect her thane. Daenerys knew Nords well enough to know that this was a matter of honor. She took Sofija’s request to Faralda to try and get her housecarl added to the expedition. It turned out to be easier than she thought. Since Daenerys was an acknowledged Thane of Winterhold, that made her de facto nobility. Faralda dusted off the College bylaws and discovered an entire chapter on the rights of students who were nobles. As a mere thane, Daenerys was only allowed one retainer. Had she been a landed noble she would have been allowed three retainers, a concubine, and a private suite. Sofija was approved to join the expedition.

The journey to Saarthal wasn’t difficult. They only had to cross one low rise of hills and then it was a long downward journey. The land was cold, bleak, desolate, and unsettled. They were attacked once by wolves, but Faralda sent them fleeing with a couple of fireballs. The sun was setting by the time they arrived at Saarthal. The entrance to the city itself looked like a quarry. She doubted it was the original entrance, but rather one that had been uncovered by excavation.

“Was Saarthal always like this?” asked Daenerys.

“No,” replied Onmund. “Look, you can see the remains of supports. A large part of the city was above ground. That part didn’t survive the Night of Tears when the Snow Elves descended upon the city and slaughtered everyone who lived here, and now we’re here to pick over the bones of my ancestors.”

“Onmund,” growled Faralda. “We’ve been over this. You volunteered to come on this expedition. If it bothers you to explore these ruins, you’re welcome to tend the camp instead of exploring with us.”

“No, I’m fine,” stated Onmund although he obviously wasn’t.

Sofija shook her head slightly when Onmund turned his back. Clearly, she wasn’t impressed by his complaints.

They spent the night inside the ruins in the first chamber. Arniel Gane joined them and showed some of the artifacts that had been uncovered. Nothing particularly exciting as far as Daenerys was concerned: broken pots, tools, and old weapons. Most were well preserved. Just not that remarkable. In the morning they finally got to explore the ruins. While Arniel Gane claimed it was safe, Faralda was more cautious. She assigned J’zargo and Onmund to help Arniel while she watched over Daenerys and Brelyna. As for Sofija, she quietly shadowed Daenerys everywhere while keeping a watchful eye on every dark alcove.

Arniel Gane didn’t really seem to want or need their help. “Fine. Just... Just don't make a mess of my work. I've only looked through a portion of this section. You, uh, you can look around in the chambers just north of here. Try and be careful, all right? We don't want to damage anything."

“As you wish,” agreed Faralda.

The northern corridors were dusty and looked empty until Brelyna bent down and picked up an object. “I found a ring! It has an enchantment on it. Very old and weak. Fortify Health, I believe.”

Faralda nodded. “Good find. Daenerys, can you read the enchantment?”

“I’ll try.” Daenerys accepted the ring. “I can tell it’s old.” She tried to feel the magic, but she simply hadn’t made much progress at reading enchantments. “I would have guessed Fortify Strength.”

Faralda took it and felt it. “And you would have guessed wrong. Brelyna is correct. It fortifies the health of the wearer.” She handed it back to Brelyna. “You can keep it. The enchantment is very weak. Let’s look around here some more.”

They happened upon two more rings with the same enchantment, so Faralda gave the second to Daenerys and the third to Sofija. Then Daenerys spotted a golden amulet in an alcove.

“Hey, I found something.” She picked up the golden amulet and as soon as she did there was a loud rumbling sound and a slab of stone dropped down trapping them at the end of the corridor.

Sofija spun around and conjured two Bound Blades holding them at the ready, but nothing attacked them. They were just cut off.

Brelyna looked at the wall of stone that now blocked their escape. “That’s not good.”

“No, it’s not,” agreed Faralda. “So much for this site being safe. Daenerys, hand over the amulet.”

Daenerys did so immediately. If she had let someone who could read enchantments observe it before she just grabbed it, they might not have triggered the trap.

Faralda turned it over in her hands. “Hmm, it makes it easier to cast spells. All spells for that matter. Which is rather unusual. It’s not very strong, so the enchantment is probably weakening after so much time. Something else… Ah, it’s a key.” Faralda ran her hand over the alcove. “Yes, I think so. Everyone back.”

They all backed up and Faralda tossed a Firebolt at the alcove. It didn’t just impact stone like a Firebolt normally would. It blew the alcove apart and revealed a roughhewn tunnel behind it. “Well, it appears the only way out is forward.”

Daenerys looked down the tunnel. “Three mages and a spellsword. I’ll lead because I can Shout, and I have my staff that I can use on draugr. If we run into dragur, or spiders or anything else, I’ll Shout and then pull back. Sofija, I know you’ll want to protect me first, but you’re our best fighter. If we encounter more numbers than we can easily handle, it will be up to you to keep them off all of us while we cast.”

Faralda frowned. “I don’t like it, but it makes sense.”

Sofija saluted, thumping her chest with a fist. “Yes, my thane.”

Brelyna merely nodded. She looked composed, but Daenerys knew her well enough to know that she was nervous.

Daenerys set off down the corridor exercising the caution that might have saved her before, but saw nothing but a round tunnel in the rock. The tunnel ended abruptly at a burial chamber with three upright coffins. “Spread out so we’re not in each other’s line of fire. I wouldn’t be surprised if we find draugr down here.” She looked out to see that Faralda was on her left and Brelyna was on her right. Daenerys cast flames at one of the coffins.

The coffin opened and a draugr staggered out. It was immediately met by Firebolts from Faralda’s hands. However, one of the other coffins opened as well and released a second draugr. Daenerys stepped up to it and Shouted, “ **Yol** ” and it went flying back. It slammed into the wall as a burning heap. Sofija was all over it, slashing with two conjured blades and hacking it into pieces. The fight was over before Brelyna finished casting and her familiar, a blue spectral wolf, appeared.

“So, you were right about the draugr,” noted Faralda with a lack of concern. “And still no way out but forward.”

Daenerys nodded feeling relieved. That hadn’t been too bad, but she remembered Bleak Falls Barrow. Dragur weren’t always considerate to come at you in ones and twos.

.oOo.

As they continued exploring the ruins, her worry about the dragur attacking in numbers proved true. Fortunately, her Grand Staff of Repulsion lived up to its name. They didn’t find just draugr, but chests with gold, potions, and weapons. They looted what they found as they went. Sofija had no hesitation at all about looting her ancestors. In fact she was downright eager to kill and loot them.

At first they had little choice in direction, but they came to a strange room where a stone bridge spanned a pit covered by an intricate lattice of metal bars. The room also housed several draugr. Once they were dead, they paused to investigate. Six corridors had originally led this room: the one they entered by, four that led off in cardinal directions, and one that led down. Two of the corridors were blocked by rubble. They also examined the chasm below. A mist swirled below that made it hard to make anything out. Along the sides were odd projections that all sloped down into the darkness.

“How far down do you think it goes?” wondered Brelyna.

“Let’s find out,” replied Faralda. She stuck a hand through the lattice and cast a fireball straight downward. The roaring ball of flame lit up a perfectly circular well that extended down as far as the eye could see. The fireball simply dwindled in size becoming fainter and fainter until it vanished.

“By the gods,” whispered Brelyna.

“Possibly,” agreed Daenerys. “I don’t think that was made by human hands.”

“The first age was full of wonders,” said Faralda. “But I never heard of anything like this. I would think it was the work of the Dwemer, but dwemer metal is golden in hue. Also, I never heard of the Dwemer being associated with Saarthal. This was supposedly the first city of men. I suppose it could be the work of the Snow Elves, so little is known about them, but as far as we know they preferred to live above ground, unlike their Farmer descendants.”

“More importantly, is there a way out?” asked Sofija joining the conversation for the first time. “I admit the big hole is impressive, but we can’t eat rocks and darkness.”

Daenerys chuckled at Sofija’s joke, but it was no laughing matter. They could starve down here, although they would likely die of thirst before that happened. With a wave of her hand, she tried Clairvoyance asking for how to reach Winterhold. A smoky white rope of magic grew out of her hand and extended into the corridor leading down. “Yes, there is a way out. So, do we explore the other corridors on this level? Or find the exit first?”

“We find the exit first,” said Faralda. “Clairvoyance can be temperamental. There is no telling how difficult it will be to follow that path.”

Nobody could fault Faralda’s logic, so they took the downward path. They stopped at every intersection and someone cast Clairvoyance to keep them on the path that would lead out. As they continued, it became clear that there was a whole underground city around them. In addition to draugr they found broken pottery, stone furniture, and other relics of ages ago.

Once Brelyna triggered a trap that shot them all full of darts. It was painful, but they all knew Healing and survived to continue. They passed through two different puzzle rooms and fought more draugr. Compared to Bleak Falls Barrow it was easy, mostly because Faralda was a Mistress of Destruction. Daenerys had known that Faralda was powerful, but seeing her fight was beautiful to behold. The only thing she could compare it to was watching one of her dragons.

As they continued Faralda suddenly froze. “Stop. There is something up ahead. Something powerfully magical.”

“I don’t-” began Daenerys.

“I feel it,” interrupted Brelyna.

Daenerys paused trying to feel whatever it was the mer felt. Sofija looked equally clueless. “I don’t feel it. Regardless, let’s be cautious.”

As they crept down the corridor, the darkness was broken by a greenish glow that grew brighter Daenerys could feel the magical energy that the two mer had picked up on earlier. Quietly they reached the end of the corridor and stepped out onto a balcony overlooking a vast room. The dominant feature of the room was a massive glowing magical barrier. Behind the barrier a huge orb carved with runes and glowing with magical power floated in midair. So impressive was the orb that Daenerys almost didn’t notice the dragur sitting on a throne before a table directly below them. He was slumped over as if he’d just fallen asleep and wasted away. However, even as she noticed him, he started to move.

“Dragur!” Daenerys hurried down the stairs, to cut it off. Once she hit a draugr with a Shout, the fight was mostly over. Some of the tougher ones survived, but they were still knocked down and injured. Even as she dashed down the stairs two at a time, she had a moment of doubt. This felt wrong. The draugr marching up the stairs to meet her wore a helmet with a long set of horns. It carried a battle axe held high waiting to strike, and it was glowing green – the same shade of green as the barrier. Something about it reminded her of the draugr lord in the final chamber of Bleak Falls Barrow. Too late to change tactics, Daenerys met it halfway down the stairs. She stepped in close and shouted “ **Yol** ”! Her word caught fire, striking it with the force of her Thu’um.

Nothing happened. The draugr was completely unaffected. She was wide open as it swung it’s axe down at her in a vicious overhead strike.

Daenerys frantically parried but lost her balance in doing so. The stairwell was too narrow, and she fell off the stairs as the draugr’s second slash cleaved the air where she had stood. She fell five feet and landed roughly on the hard stone floor. The impact with the floor knocked the wind out of her and sent her staff flying. Once she regained her breath, it was her hands that hurt the most. She had reflexively thrown her arms up to try and catch herself and landed on them. Both her hands were raw and bloody, but she forced herself up. She remembered all too well that the last draugr lord she’d fought had been able to Shout. That was when Sniel died. Even worse, this one had been immune to her Shout.

She glanced up the stairs. Sophia was fighting the draugr with two conjured blades against its one battle axe, but she was barely holding her own. A ghostly wolf popped into existence at the draugr lord’s back. The conjuration started harrying it from behind, but the draugr lord didn’t seem to notice. Suddenly from atop the balcony, a bright bolt of lightning lashed out at the green glowing barrier. The barrier held briefly, then exploded in a green flash of light and magic. Daenerys couldn’t see anything for a moment. She blinked trying to clear her vision, which slowly resolved from darkness to magenta-colored blurs.

She heard a scream and saw someone else falling from the stair. Still partially blind she hurried to the fallen figure. Up close she could tell that the fallen person was Sofija. The brave but foolish girl was bleeding from a large abdominal wound. Back on Planetos that kind of injury would be certainly lethal. Even if the bleeding could be staunched, injuries like that always became infected. However, Niirn was a world of magic.

As Firebolts slammed into the draugr lord one after another after another, Daenerys gathered her will. Sofija would not die today! The Seeming was so simple, compassion and caring, a wish for Sofija to be made whole. Healing magic flowed from her and into Sofija. She poured everything she had into it. Golden light washed over Sofija’s wounds healing her. As the healing magic flowed from Daenerys her own vision cleared up as well.

Sofija’s eyes opened and she groaned.

Daenerys felt immense relief that her magic had worked. “I’m sorry, Sofija Ēlī Vokēdrie, you’ll have to wait another day to join the heroes of Sovengarde.”

Sofija laughed. “Thank you, my thane, but you won’t be getting rid of me that easily.”

The charred and smoking corpse of the draugr suddenly tumbled down the stairs and fell into a heap beside them. Daenerys spun to face it with a hand raised to blast it, but it clearly already dead. She looked up the stairs.

Faralda was walking down the stairs. She gave a little wave and didn’t look at all bothered. “Apprentice, what’s the first rule of Destruction magic?”

Daenerys laughed as she recalled Faralda’s first rule. “When in doubt, kill it with fire.”

“Quite,” agreed Faralda.

.oOo.

With the draugr lord dead they searched the room. By unspoken agreement they left the enormous glowing ball of magic for last. They found a staff laying on the table that Brelyna and Faralda both found to be impressive. It was a Staff of Lightning with an additional enchantment to make it even more damaging to magicka than lightning usually was.

“And it’s named,” commented Faralda. “Jyrik Galdurson’s Staff, or the Staff of Jyrik Galdurson if you prefer.”

“How can you tell that?” asked Daenerys.

“It’s possible to weave a name into an enchantment, like a smith adding a maker’s mark to a weapon,” explained Faralda. “Many don’t bother, but some believe there is power in names, and it adds to the power of an enchantment.”

“They may not be wrong,” added Brelyna. “There are many who think that belief has power. Some say that even the gods derive some of their power from the belief of their worshipers. Some believe that is the true reason that the Thalmor wanted Talos worship banned. They believe he exists, but they want to starve him of power by denying him worship.”

“Fools,” muttered Sofija. “Banning Talos worship only drove away the weak. The faithful have become even more devoted.”

The name of the staff matched the note they found lying on the table:

> Be bound here, Jyrik, murderer, betrayer  
> Condemned by your crimes against realm and lord.  
> May your name and your deeds be forgotten forever  
> And the charm which you bear be sealed by our ward.

The charm was found seared to the dragur lord’s neck. Faralda examined it. “There was an enchantment that keyed it to the ward, but it’s broken now. There is a second enchantment, also broken enchantment, but it’s odd. It will help magicka, but I really can’t tell what it should be. Let’s not use it until I have Sergius check it out when we return to the College. Broken enchantments can sometimes behave unpredictably.”

Daenerys nodded. “So, do you think he has something to do with that?” She pointed at the huge metal ball spinning slowly as it floated in the air. Sometimes it would flare brighter and runes could be seen inscribed in intricate patterns across its surface.

“I have no idea. The orb was powering the wards, and the guardian was drawing power from it indirectly through the wards. When I hit the wards with lightning, they collapsed, but that orb seems completely unaffected. I can still feel the power coming off of it.”

“Maybe you should hit it with lightning again,” suggested Brelyna.

“Really, Brel?” asked Daenerys. “We have a stupidly powerful artifact and you think we should just zap it with lightning and hope for the best?” Sometimes Nords were right to distrust mages.

“It might work. Lightning disrupts magic. It took down the ward.” She sighed. “But I concede your point.”

“Yes, I agree with Daenerys,” added Faralda. “We’re not going to be experimenting on it with lightning. Let’s start by trying to read it’s magic shall we.” She walked over to the metal orb and held her hands up to it without touching it. “Ohhhh,” she sighed blissfully. “The magic. It’s so strong. Almost overpowering. Too strong to read.”

“Faralda!” Daenerys barked in command. “Get back here now.”

Faralda blinked and backed up.

“What was that? You sounded like you were in the arms of a lover.”

Sofija chuckled and muttered something that made Brelyna snort with laughter.

“It was not like the arms of a lover, but the magic is so strong. It’s more like being wrapped like a child in the arms of a parent. Try it yourself before you judge me.”

They all tried it. Daenerys and Sofija could just sense that it was powerfully magical. Brelyna’s reaction was similar to Faralda’s. Both mer claimed it was simply because they were more sensitive to magic. While their reactions were interesting and a little amusing, it didn’t help them decide what to do with the thing. The idea of reporting it to the College where Ancano would eventually learn about it did not appeal to her. She was honestly tempted to drag it back to the pit and drop it inside. Nobody having it was better than the Thalmor getting their hands on it. However, she had no clue how to move it. The runes were of no help. No one could read them, or even identify them.

“Considering where we found it, they may be Snow Elf runes,” suggested Faralda.

“Adept Enthir back at the College would know,” said Brelyna. “He is one of the few living experts on the Falmer language.”

Daenerys sighed. “Having him try to read the runes is a much better idea than poking around at it blindly, but it might be best to keep this secret – if we can. For now, let’s leave it alone and find the way out.”

They had been down here for hours at least without food or water. No one was suffering yet, but they also hadn’t found an exit yet. Clairvoyance was a temperamental spell and didn’t care how dangerous a path might be – as evidenced by it leading them straight to this room. They continued down a twisty tunnel. They didn’t need Clairvoyance because there was only one path.

Then Daenerys heard a faint noise. Two steps more and she recognized it. “Stop. Does anyone else hear chanting?”

Faralda and Breylna shook their heads. Sofija looked puzzled. That’s when Daenerys realized that she had never told Sofija exactly what secrets she was seeking in Nord barrows. “There is a Word Wall up ahead. I encountered one before in Bleak Falls Barrow. That’s where I learned the Shout, Fus.”

“You mean, I could learn to Shout?” asked Sofija.

“I don’t know. That’s what I’m hoping we’ll find out. If others can learn from Word Walls or just me. We advance slowly from here. Feel with your magic.”

“I’ll lead,” said Faralda firmly.

“Agreed,” said Daenerys, and she followed Faralda as she walked slowly down the tunnel which was opening up into a chamber. As they got closer to the chamber, the chanting started to make sense. “It’s in Dovahzul, Dragon tongue.” Yet, they were still too far away.

“I hear nothing,” replied Faralda. She had a slight snap in her voice that Daenerys recognized as her mentor keeping a sharp grip on her anger.

“Nor do I,” said Brelyna.

Sofija cocked her head to the side as everyone looked to her. “Nothing.” She sighed.

“Let’s keep going,” said Daenerys. While she was eager to learn another Shout herself, it seemed that hearing the chanting from a Word Wall was a gift the others didn’t share. That was not a good sign for Faralda’s dream of learning shout-based magic.

The Word Wall was obvious when they entered the chamber, and Daenerys could hear the chanting increase in volume and grew clearer. She started to pick out words. They resonated within her with undertones and nuances that had been missing from the Dovahzul codex she studied.

Morokei Vukein – Glorious Combat. Munax Haalvut – Cruel Touch.

And there was a Word. One Word that was glowing as the chant continued.

Liiv Krasaar – Withering sickness. Het nok – Here lies. Kopraan – Corpse.

**Iiz**

While the other words in Dovahzul resonated this one vibrated her entire being. The other words she heard, but word rang with meaning. **Iiz**. Ice. Not the merely chill or cold, but the way wet moving water changed its being to become as hard as stone. The word seemed to freeze her in place by the sheer weight of its majesty. She felt her tongue stick, but she had to voice the word. She had to set it free. Still facing the wall she gave it voice, “ **Iiz**!”

Fus and Yol exploded out into the world. **Iiz** wasn’t Force or Fire. It didn’t rip into the world. It flowed. Like a rock dropped into a tranquil pond changed the surface from smooth to rippled, **Iiz** changed the air and wall. The air stilled and became cold. The rock surface of the wall changed little save for a bit of frost. Despite the lack of visible effect, Daenerys knew that **Iiz** was as powerful and dangerous as either of her other two shouts.


	24. Chapter 23

# Chapter 23

Middas, the 11th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Now that she had released **Iiz** , the shout settled down inside her to wait until she called it forth again. The Word Wall was silent now, and everyone was staring at her. “I suppose it is obvious, but I learned a new Shout. It’s Dovahzul for ice. It means the freezing of things, not just the coldness, but whatever power existed in the wall is quiet now. At least it is for me. I can even read the inscription:

> “Here lies the body of  
> Iglif Ice-Blood who met his end  
> not in glorious combat, but at  
> the cruel touch of the withering sickness.”

It frustrated her a little that she hadn’t heard all the words pronounced. However, now that the chanting was done, she was puzzled. Why had only **Iiz** affected her so deeply? Why hadn’t morokei vukein, glorious combat, or any of the other words been etched upon her being like **Iiz**? Had the words not been fully and correctly pronounced? Were some words more important than others? She didn’t know.

And they were still staring at her. “Maybe you should all try getting closer to the wall? Maybe it only fell silent for me once I learned the word.”

“It is worth trying, I suppose,” agreed Faralda, but her words smoldered with suppressed anger.

Faralda and Brelyna felt nothing. That obviously bothered Faralda greatly, but Brelyna not at all. More surprisingly, Sofija did feel something.

“I can’t hear it, but when I place my hand on this word, Ice, I can feel a faint vibration. Does that mean I have some talent for Shouting?”

Daenerys shrugged. “I don’t know.”

.oOo.

Clairvoyance guided them out a tunnel on the other side of the Word Wall chamber and along a path that led generally up. They encountered more draugr, but Faralda made short work of them. They eventually emerged from a corridor that overlooked the entrance chamber. It was blocked by a portcullis which opened by a lever. From there they just had to climb down to return to where they had made camp. No one was there. No doubt Onmund, J’zargo and Arniel Gane were out looking for them.

“Before we climb down, we need to decide what we will say about the orb,” said Faralda.

“What is there to decide?” asked Daenerys. “Arniel Gane isn’t going away, and we’re only the second of five planned expeditions to Saarthal. We don’t have a way to move the orb, nor can we collapse the corridors leading to it. It is going to be found. If we lie about it, then we tarnish our reputations for nothing.” Which she would not do. Honor was very important to Nords. While it was not as important to her, she wasn’t going to lie for something so pointless. “We could simply not mention the orb and hope that it somehow isn’t discovered, but when has just hoping things turn out right ever worked?”

Faralda nodded. She laid a hand on Daenerys’s shoulder. “I know you are not impressed with Archmage Savos, but he is a very powerful and talented mage. The College of Winterhold has many resources at its disposal. This could be an important discovery. I hate that Ancano and through him the Thalmor will become aware of the existence of the orb, but he is only one mage. The College is dedicated to the study of pure magic and not politics. While they have their flaws, I can think of no better custodian for this object.”

Daenerys noted that Faralda referred to the College as ‘they’ and not ‘we’, a clear sign that Faralda’s allegiance had shifted despite the obvious frustration she felt at not being able to learn a Shout at the Word Wall. She was also arguing as an advisor to a leader instead of a partner. When exactly had that happened?

“My thane?” interrupted Sofija. “If you want another option, you are a Thane of Winterhold, even if you are not sworn to Jarl Kraldar. You could take it to him instead.”

“No,” replied Daenerys with a shake of her head. “Jarl Kraldar has but one mage in his service and that mage lacks the skills to study the orb. No, Faralda is right. Alerting the College is the only reasonable choice. Although I will inform the jarl. Come on, everyone is probably worried about us. Let’s tell them we’re safe and get something to eat.”

.oOo.

Naturally, everyone wanted to see the orb, so the next day Daenerys led the entire expedition back to the chamber where they left it. Arniel Gane, J’zargo and Onmund were all impressed but just as clueless. The next day they returned to Winterhold. Daenerys, with Sofija following her, stopped to have a private audience with Jarl Kraldar. It was a friendly audience, just her, the jarl and their housecarls in a private room. He even served her mulled wine without her having to ask for it.

“That is a very interesting tale,” said the jarl after Daenerys shared the discovery. “You will keep me posted of what the College discovers?”

“For as long as I remain at the College, although that won’t be much longer.”

“Really? You were only recently promoted to apprentice. Are you going to make adept so soon?”

Daenerys paused and weighed how much to reveal. The fact of her departure would hardly be a secret, but should she reveal her plans? Nords didn’t particularly like raiding Nord barrows, but Jarl Balgruuf had ordered an expedition, and his soldiers had no problem looting the dead. While Winterhold wasn’t near the size of Whiterun, Jarl Kraldar still had numerous warriors sworn to his service. If she could convince him to lend her just a few of them, it would eliminate the need to hire mercenaries.

“No, I am still an apprentice, but I am leaving the College anyway. As soon as the mountain passes thaw, I am going to be exploring some old Nord barrows.” She held up a hand to cut off any objections. “However, I’m not a simple graverobber. Have you ever heard of Word Walls?”

The jarl shook his head. “No, I can’t say that I have.”

“They are stone walls inscribed in Dovahzul, the Dragon Tongue, I encountered a Word Wall in Bleak Falls Barrow and learned a Shout from it. I have researched Word Walls at the College. They are located all over Skyrim, but particularly in barrows. I’m going to seek them out.” Of course, she would also be looting the tombs for everything of value, but at least she had justification for being down there.

“Interesting. I have two questions. First, why not simply seek out the Greybeards?”

“I will be heading south. I may indeed seek out the Greybeards. However, I have no intention to devote my life to quiet contemplation atop a mountain.

“Understandable,” agreed Jarl Kraldar. “You have the bold heart of a warrior. I never thought the path of a mage suited you. I can’t see you simply studying atop a mountain until you are old and grey.”

Daenerys didn’t know about having the heart of a warrior. She was born to rule, not to fight… and she remembered burning King’s Landing and where dreams of power had led her. She forced a smile she didn’t feel and continued the conversation. “I don’t know if they would even teach me unless I commit to joining their order. I’m not sure how they select students or if they even accept women.”

“They do,” said Kraldar. “You will have to climb the Seven Thousand Steps up to High Hrothgar. and present yourself. The Greybeards will then test you to see if you have the gift for Shouting. I made the journey when I was in my teens, as do the sons of many Nord lords and thanes.”

“But their order is not restricted to Nord noblemen?” Daenerys had wondered about that, but she hadn’t found anything written down.

“No, they will test anyone who climbs the Seven Thousand Steps. Noble, commoner, man, woman… as far as I know they’d test a mer or even a sload if one managed to climb the steps. It’s just that few commoners can afford to make the pilgrimage and few who aren’t Nords ever try. You can Shout. They’ll accept you.”

“But only if I join their order?”

He nodded. “True, but you can also leave at any time. Jarl Ulfric did. He spent a decade studying with them but left to fight in the Great War.”

Daenerys nodded her head. “Thank you. I probably will visit them eventually. I have a route planned and I will be stopping at several barrows along the way first.”

“Ahh, and that brings me to my second question, what barrows do you plan to explore?”

“Ygnol barrow first. I have the key to its central chamber in my possession. After that I’ll head west past Windhelm. There are three barrows along the path to Whiterun: Ironbind, Silverdrift, and Korvanjund.” The Nightgate Inn was also centrally located to those barrows. The small village and trading post that was located there would be a good place to rest and sell any loot they found. However, Kraldar didn’t need to know those details. “I might visit Volunruud and Silent Moons Barrow as well.”

“You have the key to Ygnol Barrow.” Jarl Kraldar laughed. “Oh, how the gods favor you, Daenerys Targaryen. How would you like to depart this week? I’m heeding your advice about lacking a navy. We’re building two new ships, but we’ll have to man them. So, I’ve kept our one ship, the Sea Dagger busy to train more sailors. It’s just a karve, only fourteen seats, but I’ve been sending it out on patrols with a mix of experienced and fresh sailors. Yngol Barrow is at the mouth of the White River. We could set sail in the next few days and accompany you there.”

“We?” Daenerys was amazed by this offer. A large part of the reason that she hadn’t left yet was because the passes were still frozen. Not only was Jarl Kraldar suggesting that they sail there saving her weeks of waiting and walking, but he seemed to be offering to come himself and bring along a more help than she dreamed possible. “You would be coming as well? With fourteen warriors? And just to drop me off at Yngol Barrow or joining me inside?”

“Fourteen warriors?” Jarl Kraldar laughed again. “The Sea Dagger has fourteen seats. Two oars to each seat. It takes a minimum of twenty-eight men to man her oars, but it will accommodate two men for each oar. That’s how we have been training, one experienced sailor and one novice per oar. That’s fifty-six men just for the oars. Then we have room for a few more near the mast. And, yes, I meant joining you in Yngol barrow. Nord longships do fight at sea by ramming, but Imperial ships with their mages and ballistae often have the advantage when fighting at sea. Where Nord longships excel is at raiding. Our ships have shallow drafts and can come ashore on almost any beach. Assaulting Yngol Barrow would be good training for my men.”

For his men? This was still far too generous. Fifty-six men would tear through Yngol Barrow like her Unsullied cut through the slavers of Astapor. “But why would you accompany us personally?”

This time Jarl Kraldar smiled and wagged a finger. “Not this time. I do have a reason for going to Yngol Barrow myself, but you have your secrets and I have mine. If you come with us, you’ll find out.”

“Very well, keep your secrets.” She was more amused than offended. “I can wait a few days to find out at Yngol Barrow.”

“Good.” He clapped his hands together. “And afterward we can take you all the way to Windhelm. I need to tell Jarl Ulfric that I have taken over as Jarl of Winterhold. I planned to send a messenger, but Yngol Barrow is but a short distance from Windhelm. I may as well continue on and swear my allegiance to his face. If you come with us, that will take you farther in the direction that you wanted to go. I can also present you to Jarl Ulrfic while we’re in Windhelm. You had good insights into the war. If you really want the Stormcloaks to pursue peace, this would be your chance to speak with the man who could make that happen.”

“Jarl Ulric… I have actually met him before – at Helgen. I couldn’t speak Tamrelic then.” He was the reason she almost got her head chopped off. To be fair he was only part of the reason. The larger part was Imperials not caring enough to even try to sort the innocent from the guilty. She wasn’t entirely comfortable at the prospect of meeting him at his seat of power. She wasn’t sure if he was merely hungry for power, or if he really believed in his cause. Was he the kind of king who would throw her into prison or even kill her merely for suggesting an alternate path? She was reminded of the diffident way Varys and Tyrion would advise her. Speaking truth to power was a dangerous occupation. It wasn’t her war. She had no obligation to put her neck on the line. Except, that people she cared about lived in Skyrim. Yes, it would have some risk, but she could speak her mind without three dragons watching her back. “It will be an… interesting challenge to try to explain my views to him, but I accept. My party and I will be glad to accompany you.”

“Your party? How many do you plan to bring? There is little room for passengers on a longship. Also, I should warn you. You will lose the respect of the crew if you don’t take a turn rowing. I’ll take a turn rowing myself. If Jarl Ulfric himself traveled in a longship, he would take a turn rowing. I can pair you with a strong and experienced rower, and let you rotate out frequently. That will be acceptable considering that you are slight young woman, but you’ll need to row some of the time.”

Rowing a longship wasn’t something she was looking forward to doing, but it would save her time. When ruling Meereen she had followed their customs. This Nord custom at least made sense. It proved that a leader was willing to undertake the same burdens they asked of their men. “Then I’ll row. As for how many I plan to bring: myself, Sofija, of course, plus Faralda, who is a Mistress of Destruction, maybe one other, Brelyna, an apprentice of Conjuration.” Daenerys looked back behind her to where Sofija stood. “I assume you would take a turn rowing.”

Sofija nodded. “Yes, my thane. As the jarl said, any true Nord warrior takes a turn rowing on a longship.”

“So that would only be one or two passengers.” Jarl Kraldar nodded in approval. “And no sailor would object to having a Mistress of Destruction onboard. Masters of that school are particularly feared in naval warfare. With her not taking a turn, no one will complain too much if an apprentice joins as well.”

Since Jarl Kraldar seemed very pleased about whatever secret he was keeping, Daenerys decided to push for a little more. “After Yngol Barrow, if there are some of your warriors who still need to be blooded, I could use some warriors to accompany my party to the other barrows.”

“Hmm, I will think upon that Daenerys Targaryen. I’m sure that many of my men would be glad to follow you for a share of the loot, or even for the glory and honor alone. However, I need all the experienced sailors I can find. Building up a navy from almost nothing is no easy task.”

Daenerys nodded. “Of course, I understand your need.” She even thought that building up naval forces was important. That’s why she’d planted the seed. “I can always hire mercenaries, but one man who fights for honor is worth three who fight for gold. If you could spare even two or three, it would help my cause greatly.”

“Perhaps, Daenerys Targaryen, after Yngol Barrow, but tell me first – what is your cause? You seek to learn Shouts, but is power and personal gain all you seek?”

Daenerys frowned. While Jarl Kraldar looked like a warrior, he had a brain behind that bushy beard. She still didn’t know why she had been brought to Tamriel, and she was still reluctant to fully declare herself. However, she was growing tired of hiding, and she trusted Jarl Kraldar more than most. Besides, if she wanted the soldiers, she had to give him an answer. “You asked me once if I was Dragonborn. I told you that I have never slain a dragon. I think the gods are guiding me and that someday soon I will face a dragon. On that day we’ll find out whether I am Dragonborn or not.” It wasn’t just the dragon on the mountain that haunted her dreams. She had seen others, and sometimes she fought them. “I know that I am not yet ready. The stories say that Nords died by the thousands when they warred against the dragons, but they won. I need to learn how to kill a dragon, so I seek to master the Thu’um.”

Jarl Kraldar took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Some say that Alduin himself is behind this return of dragons, and we’re living in the end times, but I chose hope. Nobody else is doing anything about the dragon attacks.” For a long moment, he just stared at her. “I could write you off as a crazy fool, but there is more to you than meets the eye. You’ll have your men, Daenerys Targaryen. May you find what you seek.”

.oOo.

Daenerys knew that Faralda had been disappointed by not being able to feel anything from the Word Wall. She even thought that it was possible that her mentor would choose to stay at the College and study the orb rather than follow their plan to leave. Her fears proved to be groundless.

“I will admit that it is a setback. I had hoped to be able to learn a Shout from a Word Wall, but if it had been that easy, then others would surely have discovered it by now. Hela Thrice-Versed would certainly have noticed and mentioned it in her book on Word Walls. We can experiment. The next time we find a Word Wall, you approach to activate it, but then back off. Maybe once you have activated it, then I can learn the word. The plan is still to go to the Greybeards eventually?”

“Yes,” agreed Daenerys.

“Then I will accompany you. I doubt the Greybeards would indulge the curiosity of an Altmer, but I believe they will accept you.”

Daenerys nodded firmly. “And I will do what I can to convince the Greybeards to assist you in learning to Shout.”

.oOo.

Brelyna chose to stay and study at the College. It wasn’t really a surprise to Daenerys. Conjuration magic was in Brelyna’s blood the same way that dragon’s blood was in hers. Brelyna had her own path to follow. Daenerys expected they would meet again. After all, she had sworn to aid Brelyna when she was ready to pursue her revenge against Neloth.

Word of her leaving swept through the school. She was asked about her decision and simply said that she was following her master on her sabbatical. That was even true. The discovery of the orb also overshadowed rumors of her departure. While the school rumor mill hadn’t yet determined exactly what they had found under Saarthal, it was common knowledge that they had discovered a powerful magical artifact.

She was taken aback when Taillour offered to swear allegiance and join as well. Although it wasn’t a complete surprise. Taillour had joined spellsword training and stubbornly kept attending. While she didn’t have a natural aptitude, she had been making up for it with determination. The girl wasn’t even gifted at Conjuration. Her strength was Illusion magic. While Daenerys was touched by the offer, the younger girl was simply far too young. Rather than simply turn her down she had Taillour walk with her as she went up one of the towers that opened onto the roof.

Taillour looked around puzzled. “It’s a nice view, but why are we here?”

“I appreciate your determination, but I am afraid that you are still too young and inexperienced to come with me. However, I have another job for you. It’s important and your skill at Illusion magic would be an asset.”

The young girl smiled broadly showing a lot of teeth. “Really? What is it?”

Daenerys pointed to some nests under the eaves of the roof. “What do you see up there?”

“Bird nests?”

“Yes,” agreed Daenerys. “But not just any birds. Those are raven nests. I want you to raise ravens for me. You’ll need to buy or have a blacksmith make you a cage for them. It will need a roof to keep out the rain. Set it up here, use your Calm spell to make the birds docile. Move their nests, eggs and all into the cage. Then you’ll need to come up here regularly to feed them. Make sure they have a source of water as well. Once the eggs hatch you can open the door so they’ll come and go. You won’t have to feed them quite as often. They won’t abandon their young. By the time their fledglings are ready to leave the nest, they should be used to getting free food from you.”

“You’re just making this up.” Taillour kicked at the roof. “I thought you said this was important.”

“Taillour, this is important. I’m going to be giving you thirty gold for the cage. I’m not rich enough to spend thirty gold on a made-up story. I would like you to keep it as quiet as you can. Nobody really comes up here. If you’re found out, just say it’s a project for Brelyna. I’ll clear it with her. If you want to go over and beyond, learn about ravens, what they eat, how to care for them.”

“I don’t understand. Why would ravens be important? Is there some kind of magic ritual that involves ravens?”

“No, not magic, but this is no small thing. It will take a long time to get started, but it has a power of its own. Something that can be more powerful than magic in its own way.” While Taillour looked skeptical, timely information was vitally important in both war and peace. “You will be the first Master of Ravens that Tamriel has ever seen.”

“Master of Ravens? I’d rather come with you,” replied Tailour sulkily. “But, I’ll do it.”

.oOo.

Three days later at dawn, a small group from the college saw them off. J’zargo wished that the moons watch and smile on them. Onmund awkwardly wished them good-bye. Daenerys and Brelyna exchanged tearful hugs reassuring each other that they would meet again. Similar good-byes were being said up and down the wharf where the Sea Dagger was moored. Wives, daughters, sons, mothers, fathers, and grandparents, all wished the departing warriors safe sailing and success in battle. They kept well back from the ship as it was getting ready and loaded up.

The Sea Dagger itself was different from any ship she’d ever seen before. It was tiny compared to the ship that she sailed upon when she’d taken her armies across the Narrow Sea. It had a shallow draft and rode low in the water. There was no deck or holds, just a hull with a mast and benches for the rowers. Supplies were stowed under the large benches, and near the mast where the ship was broader and wider. For a raiding vessel, there didn’t seem to be much space to store any plunder.

The ship was crewed by more than the fifty-six men and a few women that manned the oars. In addition to herself and Faralda, a half-dozen others clustered near the mast. The captain, Vitus the Large, sat at the stern and manned the rudder. His name must have been a joke because he was small for a Nord. Jarl Kraldar sat on one of the seats manning an oar as the Sea Dagger rowed out to sea. Quietly Daenerys asked Sofija about the others standing with them near the mast. One of them was an old relic of a Talos priest. He was understandable, but the rest looked fit to her.

“They’re taking it easy on us, my Thane. We’re women and the others are young boys. It’s not meant as an insult. Those boys likely haven’t been to sea before. They will let us rotate in and take our turn at the oars after the crews have found their rhythm. We also won’t be rowing the entire way. The wind is from the north, so we just need to clear the coast. Then they will hoist sail and let the wind do most of the work. Although we’ll still need to break out the oars frequently. There are icebergs, many small islands, and barely submerged sandbars all the way to the White River.”

Daenerys nodded feeling relieved. While the rippling muscles on display was a sight worth watching, she hadn’t been looking forward to rowing for hours on end. However, she had to admit that they seemed to be moving at considerable speed. She was no sailor, but it felt like they were moving faster than any horse. Sofija proved to be correct as Jarl Kraldar soon called for them to ship their oars and set sail.

A few hours later Daenerys got her first turn at the oars.

Sitting beside her on the seat was a solid of an oak tree of a man with hair almost as blond as hers and old enough to be her father. He introduced himself as Val, son of Lars. “So, I hear this is your first time. Don’t worry, I’ll be gentle.”

“Well, that would make you different from my first husband. He was rough and callous, but he improved with time.” Daenerys deliberately exaggerated her words, she expected that the crudity would appeal to the caliber of men rowing the Sea Dagger.

The barks of laughter around her confirmed that she had judged her audience correctly. “She got you there, Val!”

The rest of the conversation was cut off as the drum began to beat marking time. Daenerys felt like she was contributing very little to moving the oar, but she put her back into and rowed. This was a rite of passage in Nord culture. She may have lacked the muscle of the men around her, but she wasn’t the only woman rowing. Val son of Lars was certainly pulling more than her, but she was determined not to give up. She thought that all her mornings and afternoons practicing and exercising would have prepared her for this, but before long her arms, legs, belly, and back were all burning with the effort to propel the Sea Dagger across the ocean.

The Talos priest stopped beside her. His hands and face were deeply wrinkled and his narrow white beard fell down to his belly. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder. “Talos be with you.”

Suddenly all the pain and exhaustion washed away in a flow of healing. Leaving her refreshed and renewed. Before she could thank him, the priest had moved on. She had seen him walking slowly up and down the ship, pausing at times to heal a rower before, but she hadn’t thought much of it. Now she was deeply thankful to be on the receiving end. When she healed herself after practicing with a sword, her healing only took away the pain. Her muscles remained tired from the workout. However, when the healing she had just received left her feeling as fresh as when she had first started rowing. With her renewed energy she put her back into it. When the captain called for them to ship oars and raise sail, she was drenched with sweat despite the cold, but she hadn’t stopped rowing.

“You did good, lass. Better than some their first time,” complimented Val son of Lars.

“Thank you.” She rested in place while stretching the way Malak had taught them during spellsword training. However, she couldn’t take credit. “I would not have made it without the priest healing me, or without you doing most of the work.”

“You also probably weigh half what I do. You did more than most and didn’t complain. As for Grandfather, he heals everyone.”

Daenerys frowned. Val looked to be in his middle ages, which would make the Talos priest ancient. “He’s your grandfather?”

Val laughed. “He’s everyone’s grandfather. That’s what we all call him. He settled here in Winterhold after the Great War. He doesn’t preach, he just heals. I’m surprised he came along on this voyage. He never has before.”

.oOo.

Daenerys was relieved that the wind held steady from the north. Since they wanted to go south, they could sail most of the way. However, she did have to row two more short stretches as they navigated around the coast of Skyrim. She did her best to keep up and contribute, but she knew that Val was doing most of the work.

As the sun was setting, Jarl Kraldar ordered that they beach the ship on some nameless island rather than risk traveling the ice strewn Sea of Ghosts at night. After they beached the ship Daenerys had to suffer through another cultural rite of passage – eating a raw herring. Some of the men seemed to expect her to complain, but it honestly didn’t bother her that much. The taste was strong, but she had worked hard enough rowing to build up an appetite. She ate it with enthusiasm, to the cheers of some of the crew. While she preferred her meat and fish cooked, her stomach was glad to be filled and showed no sign of rebelling. She wondered how well some of these hardy warriors would do eating the entire raw heart of a stallion. While the crew sang various Nord songs, she sat upon her sleeping roll and amused herself with feeding some of the scraps of her fish to a scrawny grey cat with black spots that had somehow stowed away and was begging for food.

Faralda shook her head. “I see you’ve acquired another follower, apprentice. You should never feed a stray. You’ll never be rid of it now.”

Daenerys shrugged. Between the rowing and the mead she’d drunk, she was feeling pleasantly mellow. “I’ve been a stray myself. It’s not an easy life, never knowing when your next meal will come, or if there will even be a next meal. Besides, I can always use another loyal follower. At least I can afford to pay this one.”

She wasn’t as amused in the morning when she awoke feeling sore all over and with the cat breathing in her face. “Yuck, fish breath!”

To her irritation the crew adopted Fishbreath as the cat’s name.


	25. Chapter 25

# Chapter 24

Tirdas, the 17th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Their second day of sailing started off easy compared to the first. The Sea Dagger had passed the most dangerous section of coastal waters. The sandbars, icebergs, and small islands grew fewer and farther between. The wind stayed steady out of the north and they were able to sail before the wind most of the time. Only twice did Daenerys have to row, and only for a short while each time. Their smooth sailing ended once they reached the mouth of the White River at a little past noon. The wind remained from the north and there wasn’t enough room to tack upstream. They had no choice but to lower sails, put out oars, and row up the White River.

They were far from the only ship on the river. They rowed past several merchant ships rigged with triangular sails struggling to tack upstream. They also met ships and barges floating downstream on the current. A patrolling longship flying Windhold flags intercepted them before they had rowed very far upriver. The patrol ship was a much larger vessel, a skeid with forty seats, meaning it took eighty men minimum to man the oars. However, Daenerys counted three men per oar, six per seat, or two-hundred and forty men total – enough manpower for the much larger skied to either crush their ship by ramming or swarm them in a boarding action. At Jarl Kraldar’s command the Sea Dagger shipped oars, threw out the anchor, and submitted to being boarded. The patrolling ship came alongside and they hailed them and demanded to come aboard and inspect the Sea Dagger. Although the demand was far from hostile. Apparently, longships crewed by Nords were assumed to be friendly. From her perspective the inspection was largely an excuse for the Nords to brag about their mighty ships. There were also congratulations offered to Jarl Kraldar on claiming the throne of Winterhold. She welcomed the opportunity to rest while the men crowed about their ships like a bunch of roosters. Eventually, the Nords had their fill of strutting, and the Sea Dagger was free to continue rowing upriver.

By the time they finally reached Yngol barrow, all Daenerys wanted to do was collapse. Grandfather, the Talos priest, had healed her once, but that had only gone so far. She was pleased to see that she wasn’t the only one exhausted. Most of the crew collapsed on their oars once they finally halted. Thonjolf, the housecarl wasn’t impressed. He berated the crew. “Useless the lot of you! If this was a real raid, we’d go straight into fighting as soon as we hit land. Not one of you look ready to swing an axe.”

“Thonjolf’s right,” agreed Jarl Kraldar. “But that is why we train. We rest today and tomorrow morning we’ll go into Ygnol Barrow.”

.oOo.

In the morning Jarl Kraldar selected a dozen men to come with them into the barrow. That was more than enough. The corridors were too narrow for more than two men to walk abreast. Dany and her party were delegated to the end of the column, which suited her just fine. There was a bit of a commotion at first about a small glowing green orb floating about in mid-air. The glowing orb seemed to either be taunting them or luring them into the barrow. Some of the men claimed it was a wisp, but none of them managed to harm it. Even when the Jarl’s men attacked it, the small green orb did nothing except zip around and chime softly. As they went deeper into the barrow more of the green lights appeared. In addition to leading the way, the lights seemed to take a particular interest in Daenerys. They would zoom over to her, chime, and swirl about. Perhaps they were simply examining her. Perhaps they wanted her to do something, but what they truly wanted remained a mystery.

They passed through a puzzle room with little difficulty. In another room they found a chest behind a locked gate. Three Nords with crowbars popped the lock easily. The few draugr they found died quickly. Locked chests were easily bashed or pried open. In a surprisingly short time, they arrived at the door to the inner sanctum. Daenerys used the coral claw and it opened. Inside they were attacked by some kind of dark ghost that the Nords called a shade. Half a dozen Nords including Jarl Kraldar surrounded it and hacked it to pieces. Only one person was even injured. Daenerys healed him, glad that she was able to contribute something.

Thonjolf bent down to scoop up a helm that fell to the floor when the shade disintegrated. “My Jarl, this doesn’t look like the crown we seek.”

“No”, agreed Jarl Kraldar. Spread out and search the alcoves. See if any of the dead were buried wearing a crown.”

Daenerys looked to Sofija who shrugged, and they joined the search. She sought out the far end of the room searching for a Word Wall or corridors leading deeper into the barrow. However, all she found was a dead end.

A short while later one of the Jarl’s warriors let out a shout. “I found a crown!” He held up a three-pointed crown in his hands.

Thonjolf pushed through. “Let me see it. Yes, this is it!” He grabbed it from the man’s hand. “This is the long-lost Crown of Winterhold. The last man to wear it was a descendent of Ygnol, son of Ysgramor. He was entombed here after his death. Now at long last, it returns to Winterhold!” He knelt down and presented it to Jarl Kraldar. “My jarl, the Crown of Winterhold.”

“Well, now we know why Jarl Kraldar was so interested in Yngol Barrow,” remarked Faralda quietly as the jarl placed the crown upon his head.

“Yes, but I can’t really complain. We arrived here in days instead of a week or more. While we could have managed the draugr on our own easily, that shade survived a long time considering it was fighting six men. We would likely have had a hard fight of it.”

“True enough,” agreed Faralda. “But Jarl Kraldar wouldn’t have gotten past the locked door without your claw. That doesn’t bother you?”

“I have no complaints,” Daenerys said with a complete lack of concern. “I bought the claw for 30 gold at Brina’s Oddments. I would have paid more to book passage for three on a ship this far, and I still own the claw. I thought clearing this barrow would be easy with all the manpower the jarl was bringing, and I was right. This is proof that what I plan to do will work. If we can recruit just a few warriors, we can clear barrows at little risk.” Daenerys smiled. Jarl Kraldar could have his crown. He had promised her a few men. While this barrow had no Word Wall, she expected others would. They would also be likely to turn a handsome profit by clearing barrows. While gold was not an end that she aspired to, it was often a means to ends. In the short term she could use it to recruit more men. Perhaps she could also even outfit them with better weapons and armor. She would need them before long.

.oOo.

They left for Windhelm right after clearing the barrow. Unsurprisingly, sailing upriver again involved a lot of rowing. Daenerys wasn’t too proud to sit out sometimes and rest near the mast. During one of her rests, she struck up a conversation with the priest of Talos. “Sir?” Calling him Grandfather didn’t feel right, but she respected his age and abilities. “I was wondering about your healing. When I heal myself or others, I heal injuries, but I don’t cure exhaustion like you do. Why is that?”

The old man chuckled. “If you paid more attention at that College of yours, they would call it an ‘advanced healing technique’. They even have a name for it, Respite.” He shrugged. “There are even some of the faith who think of it that way, but not me. I don’t use techniques or Seemings. I don’t focus on a desire for surcease or compassion. I put my faith in Talos, and he is strong enough to cure exhaustion, wounds, and disease. You could do with a bit more faith.”

Daenerys should have expected that answer. She had hoped for details on the mechanics, not platitudes. Although in this world faith seemed a much greater force than on Planetos. “I find it hard to put my faith in gods,” she admitted.

“Who said I meant the gods? You could start by finding some faith in yourself. I can’t see ten feet away anymore, but I can see that you’re holding yourself back. You’ll never be the Dragonborn until you let go of your fear.”

“I never claimed that title,” she responded immediately.

“Exactly.” He replied. “You should think about that.” He turned and shuffled off.

Daenerys had thought about it. How could she not? All too often she dreamed of dragons: dragons of ice and fire roaming the land, the ancient dragon who waited for her atop a mountain, and even more powerful still – the dragon of Helgen. She knew that she would face them someday, and it scared her. While she had some ideas for fighting dragons, to dance with a dragon was to dance with death. If she claimed the title of Dragonborn, then everyone would expect her to deal with the dragons now. She wasn’t ready yet, and it felt like time was running out.

.oOo.

They didn’t quite reach Windhelm before darkness, but they could see the lights of the city off in the distance as they camped for the night. While the old priest had healed her twice more, she was still exhausted. However, the next morning she took her place on the seats as they rowed the rest of the way and moored at the docks.

The Sea Dagger was met by several armed guards. That was not a surprise. A longship filled with warriors docking should be a matter of concern for a city even if the river was patrolled. However, the dozen guards who appeared on the docks was an inadequate response as far as Daenerys was concerned. The gates to the city stood open, and the sixty-plus men that Jarl Kraldar brought with him could have plowed through the guards easily. Had they been an invasion force, they could likely have stormed the gates before they were secured. Daenerys filled the tactic away for possible use another day.

Even from the docks, it was clear that the city of Windhelm was much larger than Whiterun. She had expected as much. The past few days they had sailed up a fertile river valley dotted with farms. They had also passed a steady stream of vessels. Seeing the extensive walls and the docks merely confirmed her estimate. The docks were busy with multiple vessels docked. She counted three large trade ships, two longships, and more small ships than she could easily count. Two of the trade ships were being unloaded. Interestingly, many of the dockworkers were Argonians. Perhaps they made superior dockworkers because they were strong swimmers and could breathe underwater? While Captain Vitus divided the crew into shifts for shore leave, Daenerys, Faralda, and Sofija joined with Jarl Kraldar and his escorts and set off directly to the Palace of Kings to meet with Jarl Ulfric.

Winterhold was built more like Meereen than Whiterun. There were few broad avenues and little unused space. Houses and shops were built stacked up two or three high and shared common walls. It was also obvious that the city walls had been expanded multiple times over the centuries. They passed through multiple sections of wall that had no doubt been outer walls long ago before the city outgrew them. The internal walls naturally divided the city into districts. It was obvious to Daenerys that the districts were divided by race and social class. The poorest district seemed to be mostly inhabited by Dunmer. They passed through a gate in a wall into another section that was mostly Nords and not quite as poor. Daenerys wondered if the segregation was due to like seeking out like, or if it was enforced by law. The walls made it difficult to estimate the population, but at a guess she would say three hundred thousand called the city home.

The Palace of the Kings was impressive. It also reminded her a bit of Bleak Falls Barrow with its many stairs and levels each slightly higher than the one before it. Perhaps that was simply the Nord style of architecture. Although it was called a palace, it had clearly originated as a fortress. The inside was in keeping with Nord tradition for a longhouse. Long tables full of chairs for feasting filled the main hall. Even though the hall was almost empty, a few places were set with food. No doubt it was some kind of status signal that Jarl Ulfric always had food for any guests. As a means of displaying social status, it was at least practical. The food would probably all be eaten. If not by the jarl and his guests, then by the servants when they cleared it away.

Jarl Ulfric was not holding court. He was meeting with his military advisors about the war. His steward congratulated Jarl Kraldar on his ascension to the throne of Winterhold and then arranged rooms for them. Daenerys was pleased with that outcome as it gave her the chance to make herself more presentable for court. She was even happier to have a hot bath and the help of a servant that actually knew something about how to braid a lady’s hair. While she had become more adept at braiding her own hair, for an audience with Jarl Ulfric she wanted to look her best. In the courts of power, appearance could be a weapon. Although as she talked with the servant braiding her hair, she learned that Jarl Ulfric cared little about such things. He was a warrior at heart.

While the bath and clean clothes were welcome, once Daenerys was clean and properly dressed, she did not take well to waiting. She did not plan to remain in Windhelm for long, and she wanted to use that time wisely. Instead, she was kept waiting for Jarl Kraldar to arrange her audience with Jarl Ulfric. She checked on Sofija and Faralda. Despite the fact that they were inside a castle surrounded by guards, Sofija was patiently standing guard outside her door. Faralda had departed on her own errand. She had left to consult with Jarl Ulfric’s court-wizard, Wuunferth the Unliving. One of the duties of any mage who graduated from the College of Winterhold was to help locate new students. If Wuunferth had found any prospects, they could accompany the Sea Dagger back to Winterhold.

After speaking with Sofija for a bit, Daenerys chased out the maidservant assigned to her and spent the afternoon contemplating **Iiz**. The word was different from **Fus** or **Yol**. Those words were raw brute manifestations of Force and Fire. **Iiz** was more subtle. It was like the cold of winter sinking into you. It also didn’t combine well with her other words. While she had managed to make a Fire Bolt spell based off **Yol** and **Fus** combined, **Iiz** and **Fus** simply wouldn’t work to make Ice Spear. However, she felt she could make a spell based on **Iiz** alone that would freeze things. After a lot of contemplation and effort, she managed to make a metal goblet grow cooler in her hand – a good first start, but still a long way to go before she created an effective spell based on the Word. She was so involved in her meditation that a firm rap on the door startled her. A glance at the sky past her window showed that hours had gone by and it was growing dark.

She stood and arranged her dress before she responded. “You may enter.”

Kraldar opened the door and walked in. He was wearing the newly recovered Crown of Winterhold. “We’ve been invited to join Jarl Ulfric for dinner with his court. Would you do me the honor of accompanying me?” He held out his hand.

Daenerys considered the offer of his hand. Was he flirting? Jarl Kraldar was single. Was he merely offering to escort her? Was he casually flirting? Or was this a more serious proposal? She had witnessed Nord commoners flirt with each other at the Sleeping Giant Inn. They were blunt about matters of the heart. However, she had no clue how Nord nobility acted. Regardless, she took his hand. Kraldar had done right by her so for.

She had to admit that he was also the kind of man who attracted her. In appearance Jarl Kraldar looked like the typical Nord: blonde hair, blue eyes, muscled with a well-trimmed beard. She found the mind that lurked behind that generic appearance to be more impressive. Kraldar was both dangerous and clever. He also possessed power which he used wisely, and he knew how to seize opportunities. However, it didn’t matter if this was an expression of real interest, or if she was just another opportunity that Kraldar was trying to grasp. They would be parting ways within a few days. She didn’t plan to linger around Windhelm for very long. While Kraldar did have an allure to him, she had no interest in having a fling. Had he made a move earlier… perhaps, but not now.

Kraldar took her hand and tucked it into the crook of his left arm. “Well now, shall we go?”

“Lead on,” Daenerys found herself smiling. Whether it had romantic significance or not, arriving to dinner on his arm was certainly a sign that he supported her. Besides, she wasn’t so calculating that she couldn’t enjoy the simple pleasure of being escorted by a man she found attractive.

Sofija and Thonjolf fell in behind them, but Kraldar walked right past the room that had been assigned to Faralda. Surely, she was back by now. “What about Faralda?”

Kraldar shook his head. “I spoke to her already. Altmer are not exactly welcome at the High King’s court. I know she is your mentor, and on the faculty of the College of Winterhold, but she is still an Altmer. As things stand now with the Thalmor she would not be well-received.”

What he said was true, but Faralda wasn’t just her mentor. She was her partner and friend. Daenerys wasn’t going to exclude her because her race was politically inconvenient. Daenerys pulled away from Kraldar’s arm. “Excuse me a moment.”

She walked back and knocked on her mentor’s door. “Faralda, it’s me, Daenerys.”

After a few moments, Faralda opened the door. “Yes?” she asked tersely.

“I have been invited to dine in Jarl Ulfric’s hall. Jarl Kraldar just informed me that he recommended for you to stay behind. However, I am not so fond of parties where my friends aren’t invited. Would you like me to join you for dinner?”

Faralda looked nonplussed for a moment, but then she smiled broadly. “No, I think that Jarl Kraldar is correct. It would be best for me to stay behind, but thank you, for asking me. Please, go on without me.”

“If that’s what you wish.” But she didn’t leave yet. “So, how did your talk with Wuunferth go? Did you find any new initiates?”

“Two,” replied Faralda still smiling. “Both Dunmer. There was a young Nord, but his family was opposed to him learning magic. We can talk about it later. You should go to dinner. I know that is important, and jarls don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“If you’re certain.” Faralda had made her choice clear, and Daenerys had made her displeasure clear by keeping Kraldar waiting. “I will come talk to you afterward and fill you in.”

“I would like that,” agreed Faralda. Then she closed her door.

Daenerys turned back to Kraldar. “Thank you for waiting.”

He let out a sigh. “You show her great loyalty, but it is better that she’s not coming.”

“She hates the Thalmor as much as any Nord. I would say she hates them even more than most.”

Kraldar nodded. “I know that, and you know that, but the thanes and nobles of Jarl Ulfric’s court do not know that.” He offered his arm to her again.

She took his arm and let him escort her. Despite being on his arm, it felt like they were more distant now. While she understood the politics behind Kraldar’s reasoning, she still didn’t like it. She especially didn’t like him trying to make decisions for her by going to Faralda directly. She folded her distaste away inside. This would be far from the first time she had to do something that was necessary that she disliked. She did not want her first impression to Jarl Ulfric’s court to be that of a cross woman.

Dinner was a large affair. More than thirty people sat at the table. Most of the guests were warriors and most of them were men, but there were a few warrior maids, courtiers, and ladies in fine dresses mixed in. Kraldar guided her to the head of the table where two spots were noticeably empty beside Jarl Ulfric.

The High King was a bear of a man. He had a presence about him that many men aspired to, but few managed. He was powerful, dangerous, and competent. He wore a metal breastplate and curious bracers that resembled gauntlets but left his hands bare. Over his armor he wore a coat lined with gray fur, most likely wolf. His face was showed signs of age, but he still had the build of a powerful warrior. When he spoke, he had a deep powerful voice. “Welcome to my table, Jarl Kraldar of Winterhold. Please, sit, eat, and introduce me to your companion.”

Kraldar bowed deeply. “Thank you for sharing your bounty, my king. My companion is the Lady Daenerys Targaryen, the Unburnt, and a Thane of Winterhold.”

Daenerys curtsied and then smiled. “We’ve met before - at Helgen. It might help if you imagine me naked.”

Jarl Ulfric threw his head back and laughed loudly. “Indeed, we did. I never forget… a face.” He laughed again and everyone at the table laughed at his joke.

Daenerys accepted the innuendo with good grace. She had all but invited it. Nords loved bawdy humor and the ability to make fun of oneself. “Indeed, I have a good memory for faces as well. I will never forget the ones that would have ended our lives that day.”

“Well said! There will be a reckoning with General Tullius someday soon. Welcome to my table.” Jarl Ulfric waved a hand. “Please, sit. Eat.” He paused for a moment while his guests sat. “All jesting aside, I do remember you. I have seen many a wonder in my day, but seeing you roasted in dragonflame and standing up afterward as if nothing had happened – that is a sight that I will never forget. How did you survive?”

“I’m a Targaryen. We’re born with an affinity for fire. At least those of us who breed true to our bloodline. Just as many Nords are resistant to cold and frost.”

“As simple as that. Resistance to fire is usually a Dunmer gift, not a human one.” He grabbed a haunch by the leg and took a large bite out of it.

“I can assure you that I am human.” Daenerys took advantage of the pause in conversation to eat herself. Unlike most of the Nords around her, she used a knife and fork to cut her food into bite-sized pieces. Watching Ulfric, she wondered how much was authentic and how much was an act. As Khaleesi and Queen of Meereen she had learned to act differently to fit her station. Ulfric claimed to be High King of the Nords, which came with its own expectations. Was his lack of manners his authentic self? Or was it merely the role he had to play?

While they ate, Jarl Ulfric inquired about Kraldar’s duel with Jarl Korir. “To tell that tale properly, I must first tell of the honor duel between Daenerys and Thaena, the wife and housecarl of Jarl Korir. It started with Daenerys being sentenced to the Chill for defending herself…” He continued on spinning out the story. Being a Nord, he embellished everything a great deal.

Daenerys continued to eat while Kraldar told of her duel, but she made of point of making eye contact with the listeners. Kraldar was doing her a major favor here. She only wished that she had known it was coming. She would have worn her leather armor instead of a fancy dress, but it was too late for that. Instead, she nodded along to his telling and raised her glass in response to those cheering her story. Men leaped to their feet and cheered when he reached the end of the duel where she Shouted Thaena’s head off her body.

Jarl Ulfric stood himself at the end and lifted a goblet. “To Daenerys Targaryen, Thane of Winterhold, a brave warrior maid and a Tongue.”

“To Daenerys!” chorused the assembled guests surging to their feet.

Daenerys curtsied to the table. “Thank you, High King Ulfric, thank you everyone, and thank you Jarl Kraldar for the telling. I would like to repay the favor. Let me tell you now of how Karldar fought with Jarl Korir for the Throne of Winterhold!”

Her suggestion was met with cheers, but she looked to Jarl Ulfric who waved her on. Only then did she tell the story of the duel. She didn’t have the eyes of a warrior to have noted every move of the duel, so she stuck to what she knew. She recited the grievances, how Jarl Korir had ignored the clear will of the gods, how he hid behind his wife, and even disputed the priest of Talos. She talked about how the duel played out as a battle between brute strength and armor against skill and agility. Maybe she didn’t recount the actual battle as well as a bard could, but she still got plenty of cheers from the crowd.

When she was done, the gathered nobles and Jarl Ulfric toasted Kraldar as the new Jarl of Winterhold. She was quite pleased as she sat back down. While she wasn’t sworn to Kraldar, he was still an ally. She was pretty sure that she had raised both of their statures by sharing the duel.

After her story there were more speeches and a lot more drinking. Nords being Nords many of the guests grew loud and drunk. Daenerys sipped her wine, preferring to keep a clear head about her. Eventually, Jarl Ulfric stood and took his leave. Before he departed Ulfric quietly invited the two of them to a more private meeting.

A short while later they gathered in a room with a large blazing fire and several comfortable chairs around a large round table. Whoever had decorated the room had taken the Nord custom of mounting dead and stuffed animal heads to the extreme. Dead elk, wolves, cats, and even a mammoth stared down at them from the walls. The centerpiece was an entire bear fully stuffed and posed rearing up on its hind legs as if it was about to attack. While the room was no doubt impressive to Nords, she found the display lacking in taste and subtlety.

A maidservant poured four huge tankards of mead from a cask in the corner, set them on the table, and then quickly exited the room. The remaining occupants of the room consisted of herself, Jarl Kraldar, Jarl Ulfric, and his housecarl Galmar Stone-Fist. Sofija and Thonjolf were both left standing guard outside in the hallway. Galmar Stone-Fist was a tough old Nord. He wore a bearskin cloak – which wasn’t that uncommon among Nord nobles. Galmar took it a step further. The upper portion of the bear’s skull was still attached and worn as the hood of the cloak. The thing still had its teeth, and he wore it inside the palace despite it being comfortably warm. She wondered if he had overseen the decoration of the room. He did seem to have a fascination for dead animals. Then again Daenerys didn’t particularly like him. He spoke with an angry growl that most men only brought out when they were picking a fight, but that was his normal speaking voice. He was also well into his cups which did not impress her.

Once they were alone in the room, Jarl Ulfric turned to Kraldar and her. “Let’s go ahead and get the formalities out of the way. I’ll take your oaths now.”

Daenerys wondered if she was being called upon to swear to Ulfric or not. Tamrelic, like Westerosi, used the same word for you-singular as you-plural. If they insisted on an oath, she’d have little choice, but she preferred to avoid it. She took a step back.

Kraldar knelt down and recite an oath. “I do swear my blood and honor to the service of Ulfric Stormcloak, Jarl of Windhelm, and true King of Skyrim. As Talos is my witness, may this oath bind me to death and beyond.”

As Kraldar rose Galmar Stone-Fist growled. “Kraldar, is there a reason your mistress isn’t swearing? You said she was one of your thanes.”

“Mistress?!” She had been aware that arriving on his arm might have some implications of romantic interest, but she hadn’t expected that everyone would assume they were lovers. She turned on Kraldar. “You planned this! Offering your arm, escorting me. And I walked right into it!” In fact she’d made it worse by spinning the tale of his duel. “You… You…” She searched for an appropriate Nord insult. “You milk-drinker!” She punched him in the arm.

Kraldar didn’t react much at all to her punch. He had an insufferably smug look on his face. “Peace, it was for your own good. It raised your status above that of a thane.”

“Yes, because everyone assumes that you’re bedding me.”

Jarl Ulfric put a stop to the fight by laughing loudly. “So, you two aren’t together then?”

“No!” insisted Daenerys. She had known that Kraldar was scheming, but not how merely being escorted would be taken. While it may have raised her standing some, the rumors would raise Kraldar’s standing as well. After that show that she had unwittingly performed at dinner, the rumors that she and Kraldar were a couple would never go away. Mostly she was annoyed at herself for not heeding the warning signs.

“We are not now, nor have we ever been lovers,” clarified Kraldar. “Daenerys is also an honor Thane. She is unsworn, free to swear to you or not as she wills. Although I expect she will not. She has a bad case of horizon feet.”

Daenerys crossed her arms. “And what, pray tell, are horizon feet?”

“Wanderlust,” clarified Kraldar. “It’s common enough among Nords, the desire to get out and see more than the one place we were born, to experience all of Tamriel.”

Daenerys was about to dispute that she had ‘horizon feet’, but then she realized that Kraldar had given her a way to avoid swearing to Ulfric without being thought a coward. Ulfric was already nodding along. Damn Kraldar. If she argued with him, she might argue herself into swearing to Ulfric. So, she swallowed her pride and accepted the excuse he gave her. “I have, in fact, already made plans to depart Windhelm in the morning.”

Galmar Stone-Fist gave a disgruntled grunt but didn’t voice any objections.

“Very well,” agreed Jarl Ulfric. “I’m not forcing people to join who don’t want to swear to me. However, we’re about to discuss the war. You should leave now.”

“My king,” said Kraldar. “I believe you should listen to what she has to say about Jarl Balgruuf and about why the Empire isn’t fighting harder. She has good insights that make a lot of sense to me.”

“If she doesn’t have the stomach to pick a side, why should we listen to her?” complained Galmar.

Jarl Ulfric nodded to Galmar. “Peace, old friend, I’ll listen to these insights.” He snagged one of the tankards of mead before sitting down at one of the chairs. Childishly he leaned back balancing the chair on two legs. “I’m listening. Speak quickly.”

Daenerys dipped her head a bit, acknowledging the command, even as she hated it. “Very well, I will make this brief.” This was not a fair hearing. Still, it was an opportunity. Despite her promise to be brief, she did not rush her words and come across as a babbling child. She spoke with deliberation choosing her words carefully. “Think of what the Empire is doing. They could be pressing this war. They are not. They merely hold to their territories and protect what is theirs. They could be fighting much harder, but they do not. Why?”

“Because the Empire is weak,” growled Galmar.

“Not quite,” said Ulfric. “They hold back because they aren’t willing to pay the blood price. They have grown too fat and rich, too accustomed to measuring success by gold, treasures, and luxuries. War is a fight to the death, and they aren’t willing to fight with everything they have. We’re in a fight for survival. They’re more worried about Colovian Brandy and burgundy doublets. War is only profitable when you win decisively. They know this war will be costly. So, they surrender bit by bit so they can hold on to what they have left even as it slips through their fingers.”

She didn’t believe that was true, or at least not entirely true. There probably were some short-sighted nobles, but if she could recognize that the Aldmeri Dominion was the true enemy, then so could the rulers of the Empire. “Say that it is true. Give them what they want. Give them a way where they can keep holding onto the little they have without having to pay the blood cost.”

“And how would I do that? I’m not giving up on a free Skyrim with the right to worship Talos. I’m not turning my back on those who have died.”

“I’m not suggesting you do. Make the Empire an offer that lets them avoid war but still gives you the freedom you want. Offer to return Skyrim to the Empire - under the same rights and privileges as Morrowind. The Empire acknowledges you as High King and accepts that Skyrim has the right of religious freedom.”

“We tried that at Markarth!” bellowed Galmar Stone-fist. “They betrayed us! We were promised the right to worship Talos and they went back on their word!”

Daenerys would not be shouted down by a drunk. She simply ignored the outburst and kept laying out her proposal calmly. “Then don’t take them at their word. Demand a signed treaty. Have them acknowledge Skyrim’s right of religious independence in writing. Only then does Skyrim rejoin the Empire. The Thalmor will hate it, but you are asking for nothing more than what Morrowind has already been granted.” She met Ulfric’s gaze. “If they are cowards as you say who will not pay the blood price, they’ll take that offer. Yes, it will cause them trouble with Aldmeri Dominion down the line, but it is not a price they have to pay today.”

“You would have us bow down to the Empire for a temporary peace.” Ulfric stood up. “I say no. The Empire had its chance, but its day is done. The right to worship Talos is only part of why we fight. The Emperor is weak. The Elder Council makes most of the decisions now. They betrayed the very founder of the Empire when they signed the White-Gold Concordat. War is never cheap. Men died in thousands to overthrow the Ayleid Empire. Those who rule the Empire today are but shadows of those men. I say no. No more compromises. No more half-measures.”

“Peace is a pipedream for the young. War is the way of this world. This war is too far gone for what you suggest. It was too far gone once they let Thalmor justiciars roam our lands and kill our people for worshiping Talos. It was too far gone when they betrayed us after Markarth. It was too far gone when they gave away half of Hammerfell to the Aldmeri Dominion! When they sold out the Blades and Talos for peace! It was too far gone when the Empire signed the White-Gold Concordat. Have you forgotten that the Empire tried to cut off your head?! And still you would make peace with them? Begone. You may have won a duel, and you’re a Tongue, but you have a soft woman’s heart. You could never make the hard decisions that war requires. Go see what’s over the horizon and leave war to the warriors.”

How dare he?! She had made hard decisions. King’s Landing burned in her memories. She had killed more people in an hour than he had in his entire life. She had been wrong then. He was wrong now. Sometimes there was no choice, but peace still had a chance. At least it could if someone other than Ulfric Stormcloak were in charge. However, there was nothing she could do to change his mind this day. “When you look upon the corpses of the Nords who die in this war of yours, High King Ulfric, I hope you remember this day when you were offered another path and you didn’t even try. You will find that there is no greater burden upon the soul than the blood of the innocent. Have fun playing at war.”


	26. Chapter 25

# Chapter 25

Turdas, the 19th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Daenerys didn’t regret her words to Ulfric Stormcloak. She stormed out slamming the door behind her. While she could have been more patient and persuasive, it was clear that Ulfric was set upon war. That he hadn’t yet escalated just meant that he wanted to fight the Empire and not his fellow Nords. Given his attitude, she doubted that he would wait much longer. Give it a few months, a year at most and Ulfric would start the war fully – if the Empire or some random incident didn’t launch it first.

She got a grip on her temper and glanced about. To her relief there were no servants close by. Only Sofia and Thonjolf had seen her storm out. They could be trusted not to wag their tongues. “Sofija, I believe I have worn out my welcome. We’ll be leaving Windhelm soon. Thonjolf, Jarl Kraldar promised me some warriors to accompany me.”

“Aye, he did lass,” agreed Thonjolf. “But he hadn’t decided on who yet and he may change his mind if you have worn out your welcome. I’ll ask him when they’re done meeting.”

“Please do so. I plan to depart in the morning.” While it might be healthier to depart immediately, she didn’t want to leave without the men she was promised. Jarl Ulfric probably wouldn’t have her thrown in prison after he had sung her praises at dinner. She would just make certain they left promptly and try to avoid meeting him on the way out. “Sofija, would you make some inquiries of where we would go to obtain a cart? And, please let Faralda know we leave in the morning.”

Kraldar stopped by to see her later that evening. He tried to excuse Ulfric’s behavior without actually apologizing for it. He did at least stand by his commitment and gave her a letter to present to Captain Vitus. “I promised you men and you’ll have them. You can recruit up to three men from the crew of the Sea Dagger. I don’t think you’ll have trouble getting volunteers. I leave the choosing to you.”

Daenerys gave him a slight curtsey in thanks. “Thank you, Jarl Kraldar. They will make a big difference.”

He nodded. “I hope so. Despite Jarl Ulfric’s rejection you remain a Thane of Winterhold. You are welcome in my court. You may have your doubts, but I believe in you, Daenerys Targaryen. You are the Dragonborn, and you may just be our best hope. May the gods watch over you.”

.oOo.

They left Windhelm early the next morning. Sofija reported back that carts, whether pulled by horses or oxen, could be bought outside the city. Beasts of burden were not allowed within the walls of the city. Daenerys heartily agreed with that law. Cities were much more pleasant when they didn’t reek of animal shit.

Their first stop was the Sea Dagger. Only a third of the crew was aboard, so she hoped that Kraldar was right about it not being difficult to find three of them willing to join her. She presented the letter to Captain Vitus first.

He read it and then nodded to her. He stuck two fingers in his mouth and whistled shrilly. “Listen up! Thane Daenerys is not returning to Winterhold with us. Jarl Kraldar is sending three of you with her. Why she would want lazy asses like you, I don’t know, but she does. Thane, choose your men.”

The crew didn’t come to military attention, but they all stood up straighter.

Daenerys looked them over. They weren’t the quality of her Unsullied, but many of them could match her Dothraki. She needed their help. “You all know who I am. I rowed beside you. Now I ask that three of you fight beside me. I’m heading west. I am seeking lost knowledge buried in the barrows of Ironbind, Silverdrift, and Korvanjund. From there I will head south to Whiterun and then to the Throat of the World where I will climb the Seven Thousand Steps. If you come with me, you will face draugr and danger. You may even face dragons. If you would rather fight Imperials, sit down. If you would rather be safe, sit down. If you want to come with me step forward. I can only take three of you.”

Almost as one they all stepped forward. A few heated discussions broke out. From what she could tell they were between fathers and sons. Two of the younger ones sat down. It still left her with too many to choose from. She turned to Captain Vitus. “Jarl Kraldar needs to train landlubbers into sailors. Pick your dozen best sailors. I won’t deprive him of what he needs most. I’ll choose from the rest.”

“Aye.” Vitus walked through and tapped twelve men and had them sit. “Those are the best sailors.”

Daenerys nodded. She still had eight men to choose from. One of them she already knew she wanted. “Val, son of Lars. I rowed beside you. I will be honored to fight beside you.” The man had the strength of an ox. When her own strength had faltered, he had rowed for both of them and had the discretion not to say a word.

Val smiled and strode over to her side. “Honor to serve, Thane!”

“The rest of you. All of you can swing an axe or a sword?”

There was a chorus of loud bragging from the seven remaining men.

“Dragons attack from the sky. Which of you can also wield a bow?” She’d seen bows on the ship, but not every man had one. Three of the men dropped out. That left her with four. “I’ll take the two best archers. Captain Vitus can your men help me set up some targets. We’ll see who has the best aim.”

There were a lot of cheers and shouting at that. In a surprisingly short time, they had an archery range set up. Of the four one of them had worn a smirk ever since she announced archery as a requirement. He was a young dark-haired Nord. He didn’t even have a full beard yet, but he handled his bow with practiced ease. He unleashed arrow after arrow in rapid succession. Every arrow hit within the bullseye. Daenerys asked discretely for his name.

“He goes by Ull the Hunter,” replied Captain Vitus. “If what I’ve heard is correct, he would still be hitting the bullseye if you doubled the range of those targets.”

Daenerys smiled. She should have thought to recruit someone with knowledge of tracking and woodlore. She was fortunate to have found one. “Ull the Hunter, come join me.”

Ull strutted up to join her clearly pleased with himself. He was a young man, perhaps even still in his teens. When he reached her, he bowed with a flourish. “Honor to serve, thane.”

Of the remaining three, one was a piss poor shot and was easily eliminated. The other two were closely matched. She regretted announcing that she would make her choice by archery. She would have liked to compare the combat skills of these two, but she wasn’t going back on her word. After three rounds one archer prevailed leaving her with her final selection.

“Mikko,” whispered Vitus without being prompted. “Just Mikko.”

Daenerys wondered what was up with that. Most Nords would at least acknowledge their father and adopt a ‘son of’ cognomen. Family was very important to Nords. “Mikko, come and join me.”

Mikko had brown hair that he had braided into many locks. Unlike most Nords he was clean-shaven. He was in his middle years and old enough to be her father. “Honor to serve, thane.”

“Thank you, all. These are my chosen. Val, son of Lars; Ull the Hunter; and Mikko. I wish that I could take all of you, but my selections are made.” It was a solemn moment that was somewhat spoiled when a grey cat with black spots started rubbing up against her legs and purring loudly.

Captain Vitus laughed. “It appears that Fishbreath insists on joining you as well. You’re welcome to him.”

“I’ll look after him,” declared the old Talos priest. He bent down slowly and picked up the cat. “Let’s be off.”

Daenerys frowned. While Grandfather was undoubtedly a good healer, he walked slowly and by his own admission he was nearly blind. He was also priest of Talos, and she was trying not to take sides in the Stormcloak Rebellion. His mere presence in her party would imply she had decided to side with the Stormcloaks. However, she had also just recruited three Nord warriors who were proud to be Stormcloaks. They respected her. Daenerys knew that rejecting Grandfather would tarnish that respect. She couldn’t even argue about Grandfather not being able to keep up. She already had plans to acquire a wagon before leaving Windhelm.

“Grandfather,” she ventured. “We will be going into barrows. It will be dangerous. I don’t know if we’ll be able to protect you.” 

“If it’s my time, then it’s my time, but Talos isn’t done with me quite yet.”

“Very well, I’ll be glad to have you along.” It wasn’t a complete lie. He was an accomplished healer. If she had more men, she would have been enthusiastic about having him along. However, with her small band she was afraid that things could go very badly. Exploring barrows was a dangerous business.

.oOo.

From the docks they went north to the bridge over the White River. The old Talos priest gamely followed. He leaned heavily on a walking staff in his right hand and carried Fishbreath in his left. While he managed a good pace for a man of his years, they had to slow to match his pace. Fortunately, they were already outside the walls. After a short walk, they arrived at the stables just on the other side of the bridge from Windhelm. At the stables she found several wagons for hire. She quickly determined that while she might have troubling hiring competent mercenaries, she could quite easily afford to hire an ox-drawn cart or even outright purchase one. In fact, the first wagoneer she approached just to get an idea of prices was downright eager to sell to her.

“Lady, don’t go.” He took his hat off his head and held it in his hands. “I know my trade. Wherever you want to go I’ll take you. I’m not scared to risk the dragons. They’re only attacking the larger caravans. Small ones are still getting through. I’ll haul whatever you need hauling. You want to buy me out, I’ll sell to you. Just don’t walk away.”

Daenerys frowned. Winter was no doubt not a good time for wagoneers in Skyrim, but she was surprised by this man’s desperation. He was a young Nord, blond of hair, but he lacked the burliness of most Nords. Now that she looked past his rough exterior, there was a gauntness about him that meant he hadn’t been well-fed in a long time. It wasn’t hard to guess the reason. He’d mentioned dragons attacking caravans. Trading between holds had been mostly by caravan because of bandits. Now merchants had the choice of making themselves a target for dragons or traveling in small numbers and being a target for bandits. That had to be playing havoc on trade in Skyrim in general and on wagoneers specifically. Judging by how thin this man looked she was surprised that he hadn’t butchered his oxen already for the meat. “If I buy your oxen and your cart, what will you do to make a living?”

He shrugged. “I’ll find something. I could always join the Stormcloaks. I have a wife and a child to feed, and there is little work to be had.”

“And what will your family eat if I hire your wagon for a long journey?”

“I’d expect at least half up-front.”

She wondered if his family was near starvation as well. She hadn’t planned to hire a wagoneer, but the price was low, and she could use someone to guard the cart. She didn’t like the idea of just leaving the cart unattended while they went down into barrows. “What’s your name?”

“Leif the Wagoneer.”

“I will be taking the road west toward the Nightgate Inn and then south to Whiterun and beyond. We will be making several stops along the way. You would stay with the cart. We may be going as far as Riften, and I don’t know when we’ll return. I’ll be traveling with a small party. We might run into bandits. How are you in a fight, Leif?”

“I’m a good shot with a bow,” he replied immediately.

“Then I’ll buy your cart and your oxen. I will also hire you to drive them for me. It won’t be safe where we’re going, but as you can see l have warriors coming with us. However, you’ll need to swear to me.”

He fell to his knees. “I’m your man.”

Before they could depart Windhelm, Leif had to drop off the money she had given him with his wife. They lived outside the walls of Windhelm. It wasn’t really a village, more a collection of small farms clustered outside the walls called Pigtown. The name was accurate, as most of the inhabitants seemed to raise pigs and other livestock not allowed within the walls of Windhelm. Pigtown stank, but beneath its squalid poverty Daenerys smelled opportunity. Lief’s wife was young, perhaps in her mid-twenties. She was visibly pregnant and had two other children to watch over. She almost swooned at the bag of gold that Leif gave her. She jumped on the opportunity to be paid to raise ravens and eagerly swore to be as quiet about it as she could.

.oOo.

The road west from Windhelm was peaceful for Skyrim. Daenerys spent part of the journey working with her new followers on how they would arrange themselves when exploring barrows. She also trained them on a different plan for facing a dragon. She knew that no plan survived battle, but having even a simple plan was better than no plan. Her planning even got put to the test when they encountered an ice wraith. Val charged and flanked left. Mikko charged and flanked right. That left an opening in front for Faralda and Daenerys to unleash fire spells at the ice wraith. Ull unleashed a few arrows as well. The ice wraith didn’t last long. The most difficult part of the fight was calming down the oxen who were panicked by the explosions. Daenerys was certain that fighting draugr would be much more difficult, but she felt confident that they could manage a barrow.

Daenerys also spent some of the journey contemplating **Iiz** while walking along beside the wagon. **Fus** and **Yol** acted like Destruction magic. They were energy released into the world. **Iiz** was more akin to Alteration magic. **Iiz** changed the world. Daenerys tried it out on some plants. Small ones would freeze sold. A sapling would be encrusted in ice, but a large tree wouldn’t be affected very much. Of course, as spring had barely begun it wasn’t easy to be certain.

.oOo.

After they made camp on the first day, Grandfather approached her. “Would you walk with me? I would like to speak with you.”

Daenerys nodded her agreement. “Of course.” She was curious about what the old Talos priest wanted to speak about in private.

Grandfather merely walked for a while, not saying anything until they were well beyond earshot of the camp. “I misjudged you. I thought you were trying to hide from your destiny. I have been listening. You’re preparing these men to fight dragons. You are going into barrows to find Word Walls to master the Thu’um. You are not hiding from destiny. You are seeking a way to fulfill it.”

“I am,” agreed Daenerys.

“If you declared yourself as Dragonborn, then the Jarls would give you more men.”

“Would they? The dragons are a problem, but Skyrim has many problems. Civil war, bandits, monsters in the countryside. Dragons are just one more problem. It seems like everyone is waiting for a hero, like the Dragonborn, to solve their problems. Jarl Kraldar knew. He gave me three men. Three. Jarl Ulfric all but threw me out of Windhelm. I plan to recruit more men as I gain the means to support them, but one dragon can destroy an army. When your ancestors rebelled against the dragons, they died in their thousands, did they not?”

“They did, but we won in the end. However, the dragons didn’t all go away. A few still remained in Tamriel and men have fought and killed them. Every such deed was a battle of legend, but it didn’t take armies, just men with skill and resolve.”

“And luck. For every band of heroes, how many tried and failed?”

“In my experience there is no such thing as luck. The gods have placed a heavy burden upon you, Daenerys Targaryen. You told me that you find it hard to put your faith in the gods. They have put their faith in you. Be worthy.”

.oOo.

A little after noon on the second day, they came to a strange ruin that looked very familiar to Daenerys. Several pillars of stones were arranged in a large circle. Stone steps led upward.

“That place, what is it?” asked Daenerys. “Some kind of magical place of power? Or Standing Stones?”

Faralda shook her head. “No, I don’t feel any magic coming from it and I would this close. They aren’t Standing Stones either. It looks a little like a burial mound, but I’m not sure.”

Val grimaced. “It is a burial mound. A dragon burial mound. They’re a cursed place.”

That pretty much ended that conversation. Daenerys didn’t feel like talking about it either. She remembered all too well waking up at a similar place lying naked on a bed of ashes wondering why she was still alive. Imperials had found her not long after. They were likely drawn by the trees burning nearby. Being forced marched dozens of leagues, almost beheaded, and then saved by a dragon had started a series of events that were still unfolding, but she still hadn’t answered the question – why was she alive? The only explanation that made any sense was Grandfather’s. The gods had brought her back for some purpose. She doubted it was the Stormcloak rebellion. That meant that they expected her to deal with the dragons.

.oOo.

The entrance to Ironbind Barrow didn’t look like much. It was just a cave in the mountainside with four timeworn columns outside. The columns all had some kind of figure on top of them. The figure might once have been a dragon, but they were too weathered to make out much but a large snout. There was also a rickety lean-to just outside the entrance that someone must have built recently. That matched up with the tracks that Ull the Hunter had noticed on the way up the mountain path.

“Can you tell me anything else about them?” asked Daenerys.

Ull shrugged. “They camped here recently, more than a day, less than a week. One was an Argonian, the other wasn’t. They went inside, but they didn’t come out.”

“Let’s go inside and find out. We do it like we discussed. Lief, you’re staying with the cart. Grandfather, are you sure you won’t stay with Lief?”

The old Talos priest shook his head. “I’m old, and I can’t see very far, but I have the strength for this. Don’t worry so much. I’ll see it through to the end.”

“Very well.” She wasn’t happy about it. Combat could change very rapidly, and they might not be able to protect him. However, it was his life and his decision.

The first few rooms held dead frostbite spiders, the smaller ones the size of a dog. Ull reported that they had been drained of their venom. The next room held a live frostbite sider the size of a horse. The tactics she had drilled into them worked very well. Val and Mikko were able to engage it while leaving a gap where she and Faralda could cast at it. The giant spider died quickly.

When they searched the room they found two fresh corpses wrapped up in cocoons. One was a Redgard woman. She wore a very nice full set of steel plate armor. The bite marks on her face proved that choosing to forgo wearing a helmet had been a fatal mistake. The other corpse was an Argonian, presumably a mage of some kind as he or she hadn’t been wearing armor. That matched with the Staff of Zombies they found in the room. Why the two of them thought they could take on a Nord barrow by themselves when they couldn’t even handle a frostbite spider was anyone’s guess. Sofija claimed the armor, as the dead woman was near her size and it would be a good fit. Although they left the armor and the unknown victims behind until they cleared the barrow. The previous owner had partially decayed in it, and Sophia refused to wear the armor until the woman had been given a proper burial and her armor thoroughly scrubbed out.

Past the spiders they fought their way through multiple rooms full of draugr without too much difficulty. Ironbind Barrow had larger corridors and rooms than Bleak Falls Barrow. That favored the tactics that Daenerys had drilled into them. Mikko and Val had ample room to do a pincer attack on slower moving druagr while leaving an opening for Daenerys and Faralda to blast the draugr to pieces. Her worry about Grandfather being a burden proved to be unfounded. In fact, he may have saved Mikko’s life when he was skewered by a particularly nasty spear trap. While Daenerys could heal, she doubted she could have closed multiple deep stab wounds before Mikko bled out. Perhaps with both her healing and potions Mikko would have survived, but it was by no means certain. Grandfather healed him easily.

.oOo.

Daenerys eyed the large double doors ahead of them with suspicion. “Hold up, this may be the door to the central chamber.” She wasn’t certain. They hadn’t passed one of the circular puzzle doors that required a dragon claw key. Ironbind Barrow was also built on a larger scale than Bleak Falls Barrow. All the corridors and doors had been larger. However, it had the feel of final door. “I know that it hasn’t been a struggle so far, but draugr lords are much more powerful than their minions, so be wary.” She waited until she’d received nods of agreement. “Very well open it up.”

When the doors opened, the size of the room was an immediate indicator that this was indeed the central chamber. It was huge. They stood at the top of a large set of stairs going down to a large square pit that dominated the room. Right at the base of the stairs was a skeletal being wearing robes. Val and Mikko immediately charged. Val flanked to the left. Mikko flanked to the right. It was a strategy that had worked beautifully all the way through the barrow. However, this time the opening that allowed Faralda and Daenerys to attack also allowed the skeleton an opening for it to attack. Daenerys was still summoning up a Firebolt when a spear of ice flew from the hands of the skeleton. As Daenerys released her Firebolt, she heard Faralda scream in pain.

Daenerys released her firebolt and spun about to find her mentor partially frozen by a spear of ice. Leaving Mikko and Val to handle the attack, she grabbed a healing potion from her beltpouch and poured it down Faralda’s throat.

Grandfather knelt down beside them. “I have her. Go!”

“Save her!” she urged even as she stood back up to rejoin the fight. She was immediately struck by pain in her ribs as she was struck by an arrow. She glanced down in shock at the arrow sticking out from her chest, but she had no time to gawk at her wound. The skeleton mage hadn’t been alone. Archers hidden on both sides of the room were firing at them. Sofija was charging some of them and Val was returning fire.

In the midst of this confusion the draugr lord attacked. He dropped down from the far side of the pit and landed in front of Val and Mikko. No sooner had he landed than he Shouted. **Fus**! Ro! Dah! Val and Mikko were slammed back rolling across the room by the concussive force released as the draugr lord unleashed Force-Balance-Push!

Daenerys ran down the steps to confront the draugr lord. No one else was in position to confront him and left unopposed he would kill them. He held his axe high and ready as she descended the stairs. She felt tiny next to him, but she didn’t let that stop her. She charged forward and shouted right in his face. “ **Yol!** ” Fire exploded and smashed into him.

He staggered back a little and threw his head back. Making a chattering sound that might have been draugr laughter. Then he Shouted,

“ **Fo**! **K…**! **D…**!”

A hammer of frozen cold and pain slammed into Daenerys as she was slammed back into the stairwell. Her head hit hard stone and everything spun about. Cold and pain and the Word rang within her being. There had been more to his shout, but the first word, **Fo** – Frost, overpowered all the others. The cold chill of winter seemed to be eating her inside and out. Her teeth chattered and she shook uncontrollably.

And the draugr lord advanced upon her axe held high.

Lying on her side she saw Grandfather walking down the stairs as if he had all the time in the world. He lifted up his staff and slammed the end down onto the steps. “Talos, preserve us!” The golden light of healing magic radiated off him like the sun breaking through the clouds. The energy spread out into a circle filled with the warm glow of a midsummer day.

The draugr lord was cast out and pushed back, held at bay by the power that Grandfather had called down. The draugr prowled around the golden boundary like a caged beast. It shrugged off arrows from Ull and hardly staggered when Faralda roasted it with a powerful blast of flame. It stared at them in hate. Deliberately it raised its battleaxe high above its head and threw it at Grandfather. The axe tumbled end over end. Daenerys saw it as it hit Grandfather and sunk deep into his skull. The old Talos priest fell to the stone floor and landed beside Daenerys.

Faralda managed one more blast of fire before Val, Mikko and Sofija closed on the draugr lord, they surrounded it and hacked at it. The draugr lord went down to one knee as Sofija cut its legs from behind and then Val brought down his axe on his neck and the thing finally went down.

Daenerys was fighting her own battle. The unrelenting cold wind of **Fo** was blowing inside her, chilling her down to the bottom of her soul. She couldn’t move. All she could do as she watched helplessly was try and draw up enough magicka and enough breath to release Frost. When Faralda reached her side, she tried to force a potion on Daenerys, but Dany pushed her back. She turned to face the wall. Through chattering teeth she finally managed to Shout the word, **“Fo!”**

The Word stopped fighting and settled down inside her. Numbly she accepted the potion from Faralda and downed it. She had claimed another word, but at what price?

.oOo.

In the aftermath of the battle, they found more loot and another Word Wall. Daenerys stayed back far enough that the chanting was barely a whisper while the rest inspected the Word Wall. Sofija again felt a vibration. Ull felt a vibration and could hear a faint muttering when he pressed his ear to the word. However, neither Mikko nor Val heard anything.

After they had all had a turn Daenerys walked up to the wall and learned **Feim** , a word that could be approximated by Fade. **Feim** was like **Iiz**. It altered her relation to the world distancing her from Mundus. She remained bound to the material, but while the power of **Feim** held sway she was distanced from the mundane world. Daenerys felt like she was dipping a toe in the spirit world and that she could almost spread her wings and fly. Under the effect of **Feim** the world faded and looked ghostly, but she couldn’t pass through solid objects. When Fade wore off, she learned that she had looked like a ghost to everyone else while the effect lasted.

Daenerys wasn’t sure how **Feim** would help her battle dragons. **Fo** seemed much more useful, especially against dragons who breathed fire, but she had already learned **IIz**. She wasn’t sure that **Fo** added very much to her arsenal. As she helped carry Grandfather’s corpse outside, she couldn’t help but wonder. Was she being as foolish as the two simpletons who had died to the giant spider? If not for Grandfather, they all could have died to the draugr lord. A dragon would be so much worse. Was exploring barrows and learning Shouts really preparing her to fight dragons? Was she really the Dragonborn of Nord legend? Was she seeking atonement? Or another path to glory?

She kept her doubts inside. The last thing her small band of followers needed was for her to look indecisive. “We’ll take the bodies with us rather than burying them here. It should be less than a day to Nightgate Inn and the trading post. Hopefully, there will be a priest there who can see that they are tended to properly.” It seemed likely. “Maybe the two who died to the spider stopped there. We should at least try to notify their next of kin.” There were nods of agreement to that, but the mood was somber despite their victory over the draugr lord.

After they had finished their evening meal, Leif the Wagoneer approached her. “My pardon, Lady Targaryen, but Grandfather left something for you. I’d seen it before in the cart, but with him dying and all, I forgot. I suppose you should have this, being it has your name on it.” He offered her a scroll of paper tied with a ribbon. He held it so that “Daenerys Targaryen” was clearly visible.

She took the scroll from him. “Thank you, Leif.” She sat down beside the campfire and angled the scroll so she could read it by the light it cast. The ruddy glow of a campfire was not the best light, but the writing was clear and precise.

> Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name, the Unburnt, Thane of Winterhold, Dragonborn
> 
> By the time you read this, I will be dead. I wish that I could live to see you grow and fulfill your destiny. I wonder what kind of hero you will be. You have trained at the College of Winterhold, and you seem to be walking the path of a mage, but you also have Tiber Septim’s ability to lead and inspire men. Do not weep for me. Talos has led me here, to stand one last time in battle. I am not afraid to die. Tonight, I will dine with the heroes in Sovngarde.
> 
> You told me that you do not have much faith in the gods. You should. They only send us a great hero when there is great need, and never has our need been this great. Alduin has returned. The gods have chosen you. Believe in yourself. You have the power to save us from the dragons. Only you can stop Alduin. I believe you have also been sent to save us from ourselves. You are the Dragonborn and rightful Empress. Save the Empire. Save Tamriel. Save Niirn.
> 
> I bequeath the few septims I have left in my pocket to Leif. He is proud but poor. I want you to have the amulet of Talos that I wear. It is not just a symbol of Talos. He has blessed it, and it will serve you well. Hide it under your clothes if you must, but always keep it near you.
> 
> I have one warning to give you. Beware the Daedric Princes. They love to meddle in the affairs of mortals, and they are especially drawn to doom-driven heroes. Beware their gifts and their promises. Believe in the Nine. The power of the gods is more subtle, but do not doubt that they are watching. The gods will aid you. They already have. Talos sent me to you to see you through this day.
> 
> Be bold. Be brave. Be fierce.
> 
> The gods have put their faith in you.
> 
> Be worthy.
> 
> Signed this day
> 
> Primate Örn, son of Hilmar

Daenerys looked up and realized two facts: she was crying uncontrollably, and everyone was watching her. “He knew. He knew he would die in Ironbind, but he went anyway because Talos wanted him to go.” She wiped at her tears. “He even told me not to weep, because he dines in Sovngarde… Lief, he wanted you to have whatever coin he has on him, and he asked me to wear his amulet of Talos.” She couldn’t tell them the rest. She wasn’t sure what to make of it herself. She was already making plans to face dragons, but Alduin was called the World Eater. How was she supposed to face him? Yet, Azura’s high priestess had believed she was sent to fulfill the prophecy. The World Eater wakes and the Wheel turns upon the Last Dragonborn. She wasn’t ready.

She took a deep steadying breath. She had faced worse before. She had walked into a fire and walked out Mother of Dragons. She had a plan. She was gathering followers and training. When the time came, she would be ready. She rose and faced her followers. “We grieve his loss, but he died like a true Nord, on his feet, in battle, unflinching. Tonight, he dines in Sovngarde! Tonight, we rest and drink in his honor, but tomorrow we press on. We have much to do.”


	27. Chapter 26

# Chapter 26

Morndas, the 23th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

Before they left in the morning, they divided up the spoils. Daenerys applied the same rule as Jarl Balgruuf. She got half of all the loot, both gold and treasure. The rest was divided equally among her followers. Sophia received the armor she’d claimed. It wasn’t enchanted, but it was a good set of matching steel. Uul selected a helmet with an archery enchantment. Faralda and Val both wanted the draugr lord’s axe. Val simply wanted it because it was an exceptionally well-made axe. Faralda wanted it to study, because it had a unique enchantment that she had never seen before, a Fiery Soul Trap. However, Val won the draw and picked first.

Daenerys was more concerned with the fact that the axe that killed Grandfather had any kind of soul trapping enchantment on it. Whether it was fiery or normal soul trap didn’t matter to her. However, no one else seemed to have realized the possibility, so she held her tongue. It wasn’t until later when they were on the road that she was able to ask Faralada about it without being overheard.

“His soul should be in Sovngarde. The draugr lord would have had to been carrying a black soul gem. Most believe that without a soul gem the soul trap spell fails. The soul will fly free. Even if a soul is trapped by a soul gem, an enchantment doesn’t capture all the soul’s energy. The weakened soul is believed to still arrive at the appropriate afterlife.”

Daenerys frowned at the impersonal tone that Faralda using. Her mentor frequently spoke as if she was lecturing to a class, but this wasn’t an academic discussion. They were talking about Grandfather’s soul. “That is very vague language. Nobody really knows, do they?”

“You are correct. We know a little bit about Oblivion, but almost nothing about the afterlife. Mostly just the words of priests based on their faith. Still, most enchanters refuse to use black souls for that very reason. Regardless, Grandfather should be fine. Without a soul gem, how would the soul be trapped?”

“Faralda? Weren’t there soul gems in the loot?”

“Yes, but…” Faralda turned pale which was an odd look with her coloration. “The loot got mixed up. Except for a few notable items, I have no idea where anything was found. There were two black soul gems. One filled and one unfilled. They were in your half of the loot.”

“So, the filled black soul gem might contain Grandfathers soul?” Daenerys had to restrain herself from yelling. The fewer who knew anything about this the better. “What would happen if we smashed the soul gem? Would his soul be freed?”

“Maybe… I don’t know. Maybe shattering the gem would shatter the soul.” Faralda shook her head. “I just don’t know. I’m a Mistress of Destruction, not Enchanting. As far as I know, there are spells or ritual magic required to free a soul. We should really discuss it with Sergius Turrianus back at the College. He is the Master Enchanter, not me.”

“I don’t like this Faralda. This is his soul we’re talking about, but I don’t see any other choice. When we stop for the night, locate both of those black soul gems and move them to your personal belongings. I’m making you responsible for keeping them safe until we find an expert.”

Faralda nodded. “I will keep them safe.”

“Good,” said Daenerys, but this was far from good. She also wondered if Sergius Turrianus was truly the best person to consult. She could think of someone who might know more than him. Aranea Ienith was both an Enchantress and the High Priestess of Azura, and Azura’s star was a soul gem that never broke. If anyone would know, she would. Ilinalta's Deep wasn’t anywhere close to her planned route, but she hadn’t forgotten about it either. It had just become a much higher priority.

.oOo.

Even at the slow pace of an ox-drawn cart, they reached the Nightgate Inn by late afternoon. They were greeted by several dogs barking. Fishbreath, well hidden under the driver’s seat of the wagon hissed and spit in return.

“Faralda, would you get the stupid cat?”

“We could just let it run away,” replied Faralda. She had never been fond of Fishbreath.

Daenerys shrugged. “He’s become something of a mascot. I’ll just shut him in our room while we’re here.” As she recalled they let the dogs roam everywhere, even inside the inn. Daenerys went inside to arrange lodging. While being the patron meant she claimed half of the loot, it also meant that she was expected to pay her followers a salary and cover reasonable expenses – such as food and lodging. Daenerys was doing the math in her head in preparation for haggling with the innkeep as she walked into the Nightgate inn.

It hadn’t changed at all from when she had stopped here on the road to Winterhold. The Nightgate Inn was surprisingly large and well-built considering that this place was more a trading post than a village. After working as a tavern wench, she had developed an eye for inns. This one was clean and homey. The innkeeper was a bit surly, but all in all she remembered this inn fondly for its well-heated rooms and the luxury of a hot bath after a week on the cold road. The common room was mostly empty. A tavern drunk was already busily drinking alone, and three people sat around a table. From their intense looks they were haggling or working out some kind of trade over a few ales. She was vaguely aware of Faralda entering as she walked up to the innkeeper.

“Thalmor!” came a loud cry from behind her.

Daenerys whirled around to see the tavern drunk charging at Faralda with a large sword in his hands. With little time to think she Shouted, “ **Iiz!** ” The Shout caught the drunken Nord in mid-stride and turned him into an icy statue. She had no idea why the drunkard had suddenly attacked, or if she had just killed him.

Faralda dropped Fishbreath to summon up some kind of spell. Faralda usually favored fire, but an icy white nimbus of frost magic surrounded her hand. Faralda stared past Daenerys. “Drop. The. Axe!”

Daenerys turned to see that the innkeeper standing behind her had pulled a huge axe out from somewhere, but he was holding it loosely in his hands instead of at the ready.

“That, that was Shouting,” he said in an awed voice.

“Yes, it was,” agreed Daenerys. “And you’ll drop the axe if you don’t want me to Shout you through the wall.”

The innkeeper promptly let the axe go. It fell to the wooden floors with a thump. “So, you’re not Thalmor then?”

“No,” said Faralda scornfully. “Not every Altmer is part of the Thalmor. What idiocy. Many of us hate them as much as you do. I was born in Skyrim. My parents moved here to get away from the Thalmor. You can’t attack every Altmer who walks through your door.”

“It’s not that. I mean, we don’t. We’ve had Altmer come in before. Fultheim never attacked them until now. I’m sure he had a reason.”

Daenerys noticed that the drunk, who must be Fultheim, was starting to move a little bit. He was a man in his late middle years and remarkably well-muscled for his age. He wore cheap leathers over cheap clothes, and he reeked of mead. Daenerys pried the sword from his hands. The sword was unusual. It was slightly curved, not as much as a Redguard blade, but not straight either. The only other person she’d ever seen with a blade like that was Delphine. In fact, this blade even had the same kind of guard as Delphine’s sword – a coiled serpent. She fished the amulet of Talos that Grandfather had bequeathed to her out from under her clothes and shook it at the drunk. “See, Talos. Not Thalmor, you drunkard.”

“N-not y-you,” the drunken Nord stuttered from the cold. “The c-cat. Kh-khjiit. Sp-spy”

A flash of sudden movement on the floor caught her attention. Fishbreath ran for the door and paused as he reached it. The cat raised a paw shimmering with an orange nimbus of magic. The door swung open.

Daenerys stared in confusion. Fishbreath cast a spell!

Faralda didn’t hesitate. She blasted frost at the retreating cat, but the cat was gone, and her spell hit the door. “Kill it!” yelled Faralda as she charged outside. “Kill the cat! Release the hounds!”

Daenerys had no clue what was going on, but she ran outside after Faralda anyway. Fishbreath was a Khajiit? She thought that Khajiit were roughly human-shaped. Did they look like house cats when they were young? When she exited, she saw the hounds already chasing after Fishbreath. Not surprising. Dogs needed no prompting to chase after a fleeing cat. Ull had his bow out, but despite his remarkable aim he still missed. However, he came close.

The cat started zig-zagging instead of running in a straight line. That saved it from a second arrow but slowed it down enough that the hounds caught up. One of the hounds snapped at Fishbreath and caught him by the leg. The dog shook its head and tossed a caterwauling Fishbreath around roughly. Another hound bit down on Fishbreath and between the two of them they tore him apart before the innkeeper made it outside to call them off.

Daenerys turned to Faralda. The gory sight bothered her a lot less than the mere fact that Fishbreath could cast spells, was highly intelligent, and had apparently been spying on them. “What just happened?” While she had a good handle on the history and culture of Tamriel, every so often something she had never heard of before bit her in the ass. This appeared to be one of those times. “So, was that a Khajiit child? Kitten? Whatever?”

“No,” replied Faralda. “That was a full-grown Khajiit. There are more than twenty different breeds of Khajiit. What form any Khajiit grows up to be depends on the phases of Masser and Secunda. The breed you usually see in Skyrim are Cathay, like J’zargo, but the Khajiit breeds vary wildly in size and appearance. The Senche-raht are quadrupedal battlecats the size of a mammoth. The Alfiq can pass as housecats. Fishbreath must have been an Alfiq.”

“Altmer, you know a lot about the Khajiit,” accused Fultheim. He still looked a little blue around the face.

Faralda shook her head disdainfully. “I have been alive a long while, and I don’t spend my time in a bottle. You learn things when you study instead of drinking all day.”

“I wasn’t always a drunk, and you were still traveling with the Khajiit spy, elf.”

Daenerys turned to face Fultheim. While he was apparently more than a drunk, she still wasn’t that impressed. He could have bided his time and chosen a moment to strike. They might have caught Fishbreath and gotten some answers. However, there was no use crying over might have beens. For all that this man looked like a drunk, he’d been fast with a sword. He also spotted Fishbreath when they had been clueless. On the other side of the coin, he lacked manners and had tried to kill them. “My friend has a name, Faralda, and she is Mistress of Destruction. You might want to mind your manners.”

“Oh, excuse me.” Fultheim belched loudly.

“Mind your tongue, or I will cut it out,” interrupted Sofija. “You speak to the Lady Daenerys of House Targaryen, first of her name and Thane of Winterhold.”

The man rolled his eyes. “Oh, excuse me. I didn’t realize I was talking to a Lady. May I puh-lease have my sword back.”

“No,” replied Daenerys keeping a grip on his sword. “At the minimum you owe my friend an apology. I also want to know how you knew the cat was an Alfiq. We all thought Fishbreath was just a cat.”

“Fine. There are signs. Particularly in how they look about. Alfiq only look like housecats on the outside. They’re as clever as a man or mer. That means they react differently. We keep dogs around for a reason. I’ve never seen a cat that calm around barking dogs. A real housecat would have either been hiding in the elf’s arms or trying to escape. The Alfiq just looked about all calm and curious.”

“I see.” Now that she thought about it, there had been other signs. Stray cats were skittish. It wasn’t normal for one to grow attached after just a few scraps. A normal cat would also have wandered off somewhere in the wilderness and never returned. She hadn’t ever questioned the possibility that Fishbreath was anything but a cat. “And you picked up on that moments after Faralda entered the Nightgate Inn?”

He shrugged. “Well, the Alfiq was being held by an Altmer. That got my attention and then it was just obvious. Besides, we were trained to spot them. We learned our lesson after the Ambassador’s Gift.”

“The Ambassador’s Gift?” asked Daenerys.

“That’s what started the Great War. The Aldmeri Dominion sent an ambassador to the Emperor. He demanded a lot of things: tribute, disbanding the Blades, outlawing Talos worship, and half of Hammerfell. When the Emperor told him to shove his offer up his ass, he turned over the covered cart he’d brought with him and revealed his gift – the head of every Blades agent in the Aldmeri Dominion. It took us a few years, but we found out their secret. The Thalmor had aggressively recruited Alfiq to act as their spies. That’s how they infiltrated the Blades so badly.”

Hmm, Fultheim said ‘we learned our lesson’. He didn’t look it, but that meant… “So, you’re a Blade.”

“You said it, not me.” He sighed. “Fine. I was a Blade once, but the Blades are no more. Now, give me back my sword.”

“Not until you apologize to Faralda.” Daenerys wasn’t sure what to make of the man. He looked like a drunk. He acted like a drunk, but the Blades were legend. Perhaps like Jorah Mormont there was more to this man than met the eye.

Faralda cleared her throat. “An apology is not necessary. You saw an Altmer holding an Alfiq in Skyrim. It was an understandable mistake. I just wish we could have caught the damn spy. There is no way of telling what secrets he spilled.”

Daenerys looked over at her friend. She had an amazing tolerance for Nord prejudices. Daenerys wouldn’t have forgiven so easily. “Very well, since Faralda accepts it was a mistake, you can have your sword back.” She handed it over to him.

He took it from her and slid it back into his scabbard, then he nodded to Faralda. “For what it’s worth, I apologize. The Thalmor have been hunting me for a long time. I saw an Altmer holding an Alfiq and I reacted.”

Faralda bowed her head. “The Thalmor killed my grandparents. I have no love for them.”

Daenerys looked about. They had drawn a bit of crowd. She was surprised there were this many people living in the trading post. She was not surprised that most of them had a weapon in hand. Between her Shouting, Faralda throwing around Frost magic, and the dogs barking they made quite a racket. People living on the edge of the wilderness like this without the protection of a wall had to be ready to defend themselves on short notice. “Let’s go inside where we can sit down and talk about this.”

“What’s to talk about? This was a good place to hide. Not anymore. You made a big scene and too many people saw. They’ll talk. The Thalmor will hear about it and come calling. Time for me to find a new place to hide.”

“They aren’t going to come calling today. Come inside, sit down. I’ll buy you a drink. I can offer you a job and protection.”

“I won’t say no to a pretty lady offering to buy me a drink, but I think you’ll be disappointed.” He turned and went inside. “Hey, Hadring. Bring a bottle of the good stuff. The lady is buying.” He went on through the main room to one of the guest rooms. “Well come on, I thought you wanted privacy.”

At first glance the room showed the usual Nord predilection for decorating with dead animals, but there was more than that. Bottles of wine and mead cluttered ever available surface, some full and some empty, but beneath those bottles were a surprisingly large number of books and weapons. Daenerys felt certain that this room belonged to Fultheim and wasn’t just a random inn room. Perhaps he was a partner at the inn? Or even the owner?

The possibility that Fultheim was actually the owner or at least a partner was reinforced when the innkeeper showed up promptly with a dusty old bottle. He plopped it on the table. “The good stuff. Not that this lunk can tell the difference.” He glanced at Faralda. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t burn down the inn.”

“That’s why I used Frost instead of Fire,” said Faralda as she sat down at the room’s small table. “Smart mages don’t cast fire spells while standing inside wooden buildings.”

“Good. Then I’ll leave you to it.” The innkeeper, or perhaps the manager, left and closed the door behind him.

Daenerys took the remaining seat. “Just so we’re all introduced, Sofija here is my housecarl, and I heard your name is Fultheim?”

“Yeah.” He grabbed the bottle, popped the cork and took a deep swig from the bottle. “Ahhh, now what do you want to talk about?”

“Well, Fultheim. I’d like to hire you. I’m recruiting. I have a small band of followers. We clear Nord barrows. It’s dangerous work, but profitable. The Thalmor don’t like me either, so we can watch each other’s back.”

He took another swig and swallowed before he replied. “Is this supposed to be where I scoff at danger and sign up? Feh, I’ve seen plenty of young adventurers like you. What are you? Fifteen? You know what I’ve never seen? An old adventurer. You know why? Because adventures get you killed. That’s why. I’ve done my share and more. I fought in the Great War. I survived the purge of the Blades. I just want a place to drink and forget.”

“You’re going to slink off and hide? I thought you were a Nord. What matters more? How you live or how you die?”

“So, you’re a gods-damned Talos priestess now? Honor, glory, death, and Sovngarde? Honor and glory get you killed. Sovngarde… easy to talk about it. You want me to risk my life for what? Gold? I put my life on the line for honor, and the Empire I fought to defend pissed on us. That didn’t make me brave. That made me a fool. If the heroes of Sovngarde want me, they can come and get me.”

Sofija suddenly spoke up. “I thought the Blades didn’t swear to the Medes. They only swore to defend the dragon-blooded emperors. After the Oblivion Crisis, they only lent their aid to the Empire.”

“Technicalities. The Blades still agreed to work with the Empire, especially as the Thalmor threat grew. Not that the Empire listened.”

“But the Blades swore to the Dragonborn,” said Sofija.

Daenerys kept silent. Sofija had the same intensity about her that she brought to training, like this exchange of words was a battle she intended to win.

“Yes, but there are no more Blades and no more dragonborn.” Then he looked at Daenerys. “Oh, fuck me! Her?! You’re telling me that Little Miss Fancybraids is the Dragonborn? We’re all doomed.”

“I haven’t claimed that title.”

“Yet,” added Faralda.

Daenerys glared at her mentor. “Was that supposed to be helpful?”

“Fultheim?” asked Sofija. “Your oath was to the Dragonborn. If you forswear that oath, that makes you no different from those who turned their backs on the Blades. She is the Dragonborn. I have sworn to protect her. My life for hers, but I know that I’m no Blade. Come with us. Protect her. Teach me.”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” He held up a hand cutting off Sofija. “Oh, I know your kind. You’re a young honorable fool. You can’t take a piss in Skyrim without running into one.” Fultheim slugged down three long gulps from the bottle. “Damn it all to Oblivion. Damn me, too.” He pointed to Daenerys. “I’ll give you one barrow. Just one. If I decide that you’re full of shit, then I’m gone after that.” He pointed to Sofija. “You. Outside. I want to see what you’ve got. Wipe that smirk off your face. This is not open auditions at the Bard’s College. I’m going to work your ass off. You quit before I say you can, then it’s over. This is your one and only chance.”

.oOo.

Fultheim spent the rest of the day putting everyone but Faralda through their paces making them demonstrate their combat skills first alone, then against each other, and lastly against him. He kept his promise to work Sofija’s ass off. While everyone else got to rest from time to time, he kept Sofija constantly busy. He had her doing exercises, weapon drills, dismissing and summoning her conjured blades, then doing it all over again. He had her squat, lift, carry, drag, jump, balance, and crawl. She took it all without complaint. Daenerys supported her housecarl by healing her from time to time. Fultheim looked at her the first time, then nodded his approval. That night after Daenerys had cleaned up, they met again in Fultheim’s room.

“So, what do you think of them?” Daenerys had been impressed by the depth of Fultheim’s knowledge. He had obviously trained men to fight before. Even more than his personal skill as a fighter, she needed his experience in training men. However, he still seemed more interested in drinking.

“I’ve seen worse. Val is a dumbass who relies on brute strength, but he’s got the strength to back it up. The battleaxe is the perfect weapon for him. Put him up front and let him swing that axe. Ull is a natural talent. I don’t know where you found him, but he’s damned deadly. He’s better than I am at bow. However, he has a plain yew bow. That’s fine for hunting animals, but he needs a real bow, and a little bit of sword practice in case someone gets in his face, but that’s it. Mikko… he’s trying to fight with twin axes and he sucks at it. I’m going to train him in axe and shield. Your housecarl,” he pointed at Sofija. “She has talent. Raw, but I can work with it. Can’t say that I ever trained a Spellblade before, but those conjured swords aren’t a joke. As for you… stick to Shouting and spellcasting. Combat isn’t all about strength, but brute force matters. Warrior maids have to work twice as hard as men, that’s the cold truth of it. She can make it, because she wants it. You… you’re juggling too many balls. You don’t have time to exercise and train for hours a day.”

“I know it,” agreed Daenerys. “I don’t expect to be a warrior. I just want to be able to defend myself if I run out of magicka. I’ll give you a couple of hours every morning, that’s it.”

Fultheim nodded. “I agreed to do one barrow with you, but I want two days here first. Mikko needs that much to train him up on axe and shield. I’ll work with the others as well.”

Daenerys nodded her agreement. It would certainly be time well spent. “You have your two days – except for Grandfather’s funeral.”

Fultheim slugged down more mead. “Not a problem.” He pointed to Sofija. “Two more days. No bitching, no quitting. After that… we’ll see.

Faralda cleared her throat. “We’re not done yet. Daenerys, I want some of your time as well. I want to start some new spell training.”

“Yeah, well keep the explosions down. It spooks the animals. If we’re done jawing, leave me to drink in peace.”

Daenerys held up a hand. “Just one more thing. You might not be the only Blade who survived. I know a woman who bears a sword like yours.”

“Yeah?” He shrugged. “It takes more than an Akaviri sword to be a Blade. What’s her name?”

“She goes by Delphine.”

“Never heard of her. Of course, it could be an alias, could be she was a secret Blade, or maybe she found the sword on a corpse. There were plenty of Blades corpses left to rot. It really doesn’t matter if there are any survivors. The Blades are dead and gone.” His eyes briefly flicked over to Sofija, but then he shook his head and grabbed the bottle. “Now leave me in peace.”

“As you wish.” Daenerys stood and left him to his drinking.

.oOo.

The last thing Daenerys did before climbing into bed was to take off the amulet of Talos that Grandfather had bequeathed to her. She placed it on the nightstand beside the bed. The bed was as soft and warm as she remembered, but she couldn’t sleep. The old man had claimed that Talos had sent him to protect her at Ironbind Barrow. He meant that literally, and Daenerys believed him. The gods were much more involved in mortal affairs in this world than on Planetos. She had seen the power of Grandfather’s faith. Colette, the Mistress of Restoration at the College, had often talked about how faith was the best Seeming for Restoration magic. However, Daenerys had a hard time finding faith in Talos or any diety. She was much more comfortable with the transactional relationship that Brelyna described the Dunmer having with the ‘three good Daedra’. That aligned with her encounter with Aranea Ienith. Azura wanted her to recover her missing relic with the implied promise of help in return. While Daenerys rallied her followers with appeals to Talos and Sovngarde, she was just using the words to motivate them. She had always believed in the righteousness of her causes – even as she burned down King’s Landing. She had placed her faith in herself, but that faith had been misplaced. Now she didn’t know what to believe in. Even with the evidence that Talos had intervened to help her, she found it difficult to have faith in Talos or any other god for that matter.

Lying there in bed with Faralda and Sofija sleeping close by, she tried. She didn’t really know how to pray. Silently, she thanked Talos for sending Grandfather to save her. She also asked him for his aid, but not for herself. It didn’t feel right. She had obstacles, but she could overcome them. Instead, she asked for Talos to help her save Grandfather’s soul. Talos owed him that much. If Talos wouldn’t save the soul of a follower as loyal as Grandfather, then he wasn’t worthy of the belief the Nords and others placed in him. As she drifted off to sleep she realized that she was still trying to bargain with Talos for Grandfather, like he was a Daedra and not an Aedra. She simply didn’t get faith. Grandfather had beseeched her to ‘Be worthy’. She was just going to do what was right. The gods could do whatever they damn well pleased.


	28. Chapter 27

# Chapter 27

Turdas, the 26th of First Seed, Year 202 of the 4th Era

The two days they spent at the Nightgate Inn went by in a blur of training. While Fultheim spent most of his time working with Sofija and Mikko, he still trained the rest of them for several hours each day. Daenerys spent most of the rest of the time training with Faralda.

Faralda had decided that they needed to focus upon ward spells. While Faralda was a Mistress of Destruction, she did know a few useful spells from other schools: Clairvoyance, Magelight, Healing, and Wards. Faralda was upset at herself for allowing her skill with wards to lapse. She felt that she should have been able to ward off the Ice Spike that had struck her down at Ironbind.

“So, this has nothing to do with me learning the Shout for Frost when the druagr lord Shouted at me?” asked Daenerys.

“That is a part of it,” admitted Faralda. “However, we already knew you learned to Shout when the dragon of Helgen Shouted at you. I had just hoped for a safer way to learn. Still, we know from testing that wards do block Shouts.”

“Faralda,” said Daenerys softly. “We did that testing at the edge of my range, and you couldn’t hear the word. Going to visit the Greybeards is still part of the plan. You could wait to hear what they have to say.”

“I know,” agreed Faralda. “I’m not suggesting that I stand there while you Shout at me repeatedly – at least not yet. I could stand to improve my warding skills, and you could stand to learn wards in the first place. This is more likely to be of use to you than learning to swing a sword. We already know you have a talent for Restoration magic.”

“That’s true.” While she had made good progress with her sword work, she knew that she was still a beginner and couldn’t afford to spend the years required to master the skill. “Although it is less that I have a talent for Restoration, than the fact that it has the simplest Seemings.”

Faralda chuckled. “Simplest to you, perhaps. Others find the Seemings for other schools easier, but that is not the only reason. You are preparing us to fight dragons. If wards can protect against Shouts, they can most likely shield against dragonfire. For that reason alone, we should practice wards.”

Daenerys couldn’t argue with that. “Very well, you win. We’ll study wards.”

Studying wards turned out to be a painful process. They took turns shooting Sparks at each other while summoning wards to shield themselves. Faralda already knew how to ward herself, she was just trying to improve her wards. Daenerys struggled merely summoning up a ward at all. The Seeming was simple – the wish not to hurt. The pain from being shocked by electricity was good motivation to block the spell with a ward. Despite that motivation Daenerys managed nothing but a weak flicker of a shield in two days of intense effort. Even that much progress was good for the time she spent on it. Learning spells was not a fast or easy process, and Faralda was right. Wards could indeed be useful against dragons. They would also be quite handy when they confronted the coven of mages at Ilinalta's Deep.

In the evenings she talked strategy with Fultheim. He claimed to know little, but they went over the battle with the draugr lord of Ironbind and how Grandfather had died. She told it as best she could recount, explaining that learning a Word by having it Shouted at you made it difficult to focus on everything else. Fultheim blew that off. He pointed out that the draugr lord had only been half the problem.

“That pincher attack,” said Fultheim. “It’s a good attack pattern for your group. You have two heavy spellcasters: Faralda and yourself with your Shouts. Open up a line of fire for your casters, have protection close by, then let the troops mop up. However, you charged into an ambush.” He shook his head and took a swig of mead. “You have to be aware of your surroundings if you’re going to lead men into battle. Watch out for treelines, ridges, and other places where men can be hidden in wait. You were smart, but the dragur lord was smarter. He suckered you in with the skeleton mage as bait, let his archers rain down death all around you, then he engaged himself – that made it impossible for you to retreat without showing your back to him. You’re all lucky to be alive. Not many priests can pull off a Guardian Circle like that. You need more attack patterns, and you need to adapt to the environment.”

“It’s not my only pattern,” replied Daenerys defensively. Although, she had to admit that he was right about walking into an ambush at Ironbind.

“No, but your other pattern is for fighting dragons.” He shrugged. “I can’t judge that one. If what you say about dragons is right, it could work. If you’re wrong, it could easily get all of you killed. For that matter if you’re right, it could still get all of you killed. Dragons are smart, flying, armored, and breathe fire. If half of you live through a fight, call it a victory.” He muttered something under his breath. “Still, you need more patterns to handle things like bandits, draugr, trolls, and such.”

“So, teach us then. You obviously know some other attack patterns.”

He shook his head and took a swig of his mead. “Look, I’m not a leader. Teach a man how to stand, how to swing an axe, when to block and when to commit – that I know, but calling the shots in battle? Anyone can spot mistakes sitting by the fire and drinking mead after the fight is done. It’s different being able to call orders when someone is trying to kill you and your men are dying. I’ll describe a few attack and response patterns to you, but you’re going to have to make them work for your people. I’m giving you a chance girlie, but I’m testing you as much as I’m testing your crew.”

Daenerys nodded. “Fine. Tell me about these attack and response patterns.”

“Alright, but you’ll have to modify them. You have light infantry and some casters. That’s perfect for your needs since you’re walking more than you’re fighting. I trained and fought with heavy armor units: Blades, knights, and battlemages. Heavy armor is good for the battlefield, for frontal assaults, and for standing guard. It would be great for exploring barrows, but it sucks to march in. I’ve seen heavy armor get mauled by having to fight after being exhausted after a day of marching.”

“I understand. I thought of buying horses, but they’re too expensive for now. Although, we are traveling with a cart.” Daenerys absolutely planned to keep the cart. There was a huge profit to be made in clearing out every last weapon and piece of armor in a barrow. She did plan to replace the oxen with horses eventually. While horses couldn’t pull as much, they were faster. “What if we carried heavy armor in the cart? My troops can march in light armor, and change into heavy armor just before we hit the barrows.”

“Huh, two sets of armor for all your men?” Fultheim scratched his beard. “I’ve never heard of anyone doing that before. Most grunts are doing good to take care of one set of armor. It wouldn’t work for a larger group, but for your handful, yeah, that might work. Of course, they would still need training time, a lot of it. You can’t just slap on a suit of heavy armor and fight in it.” He wagged a finger at Sofija who was quietly standing behind Daenerys. “I already explained that to your housecarl. You have to train to walk, run and fight in it.”

“Seems to me you already started training Sofija. I’ve seen her running around in that armor all day. Start training Val and Sofija for heavy armor. They can at least armor up when we hit barrows. Mikko if he wants it. We certainly got enough armor for everyone.”

“Hey! Slow down. We have a deal. You get one barrow. You talk a good, but I want to see you and your men in action. If I stick with you after Silverdrift Barrow, I’ll start training them, but it will take time. A few weeks minimum. Months before they get really good at it. Might take longer if they’re not wearing full armor all the time. You also might want to think about puttin’ yourself and Faralda on that list. Neither one of you will ever be a good melee fighter, but you don’t need mobility to bring the thunder. That’s why battlemages wear armor.”

Daenerys sighed. He made good sense, but she was not looking forward to the training. “I’ll start exercising in heavy armor, and I will suggest it to Faralda. When I can walk around without falling down, I’ll consider wearing heavy armor into a barrow.”

Fultheim smiled. “That’s the spirit. Now we drifted off-topic. We were going to discuss attack and response plans. Let’s go over some basic scenarios. I’ll start with an easy one.”

Daenerys listened closely. While Fultheim’s advice was more focused on pitched battles, he had decades of experience. As he described different scenarios, she turned them over, trying to adapt them to similar situations involving fewer men. She didn’t pretend to be a military expert, but she had been in enough fights that this was familiar ground.

.oOo.

The Nord barrow of Silverdrift was located a little more than a day west of the Nightgate Inn. This barrow was easy to find as it was clearly visible from the road. It was also reportedly taken over by bandits. However, when they arrived the bandits were all dead. Apparently, the bandits hadn’t completely cleared the barrow. The draugr had risen up and slaughtered them. From the state of the corpses, Ull estimated that the draugr attack had happened at least a week ago.

As they made their way through the barrow, they found draugr and dead bandits. They killed the draugr and looted everything. They still used the pincher attack plan. It worked well, but she was now very much aware of its flaws. They had practiced having her and Faralda fall back to allow their second line fighters to engage. It put more pressure on her to make a snap decision on whether to blast or fall back, but she hoped it would keep them for falling into another ambush.

The fights with the few scattered draugr went well, but Silverdrift itself was an obstacle. The place was full of traps. Doors lined with spikes swung out and slammed into them. Spears shot out of holes in the floors and ceiling. A log tied to chains swung out like a pendulum and rammed into them. The flame traps were the worst. Hidden mechanisms shot out jets of flames and sometimes set the floor on fire. They learned to beware of pools of oil and floors covered in sticky tar. Val and Mikko, who were leading the way, took the worst of the traps.

“I’m sick of the damn traps,” said Val as Daenerys healed him yet again. “Whatever sick mind built this place must have been half Dwemer.”

“I thought it was Nords who built the barrows,” said Faralda.

“Yeah,” said Val. “Well, we were slaves to the dragons back then. That would drive anyone crazy.”

“I see,” said Faralda. “And Nords area all sane and rational now.”

“Of course!” said Mikko joining the conversation. “It’s mages who are crazy. Everyone knows that.”

“Fultheim, swap out with Val,” ordered Daenerys. “Let’s see if you have a better eye for spotting traps.

The swap did help some. Fultheim spotted some murder holes and a pressure plate. However, he still triggered quite a few traps. Daenerys was reminded of a comment Lydia had made about bringing a thief along the next time she had to explore a barrow. It wasn’t a bad idea. However, the problem was finding a trustworthy thief, if such a contradiction existed. Also, her priority remained in recruiting capable fighters. She would need them to fight a dragon. Still, it was an idea worth thinking about.

When they opened the final chamber, Daenerys quickly scanned the entire room for threats instead of focusing on what was directly in front of her. “Flanks and forward!” she called out, commanding a slightly different response. Fultheim and Mikko charged the draugr lord in a pincher attack. Val moved to the right flank while Sofija covered their left. Faralda and Ull supported them. Daenerys remained steady and lobbed a firebolt at the draugr lord.

It seemed to work more or less. There were draugr on their flanks, but they were under control. The firebolt didn’t do much, but Fultheim and Mikko were managing the draugr lord. Mikko used his shield more than attacking, but that just created openings for Fultheim.

Daenerys noticed the way the draugr lord arched himself up. “Scatter!” she shouted in warning.

Fultheim and Mikko both backpedaled.

The draugr lord focused on er as he shouted. “ **Fus! Ro! D..!** ”

Daenerys was far enough away that the impact of the Shout merely knocked her back off her feet. However, she still heard two of the words loud and clear: **Fus** , Force; **Ro** , Balance, and another word that slipped past because **Fus** and **Ro** overwhelmed her. **Fus** was Force and **Ro** was Balance. Ironic. Physically she was sprawled awkwardly on the ground, completely lacking in balance, yet her soul was in perfect balance. **Fus** and **Ro**. Force and Balance. The two Words blended beautifully like an arrow in fight, a wheel in motion, or a perfectly executed sword strike. She pushed herself up finding a strange elegance in the motion. Force pushing against stone floor to restore Balance as she stood. She was very aware of her body and stance as she took a deep breath. A small part of her noticed her followers standing over the defeated draugr lord. She quickly aimed her Shout upward and set it free. “ **Fus**! **Ro**!”

While her heart soared with victory at mastering another Word, her body faltered as magicka drained from her leaving her weak and almost tapped out. She drew in a breath pulling in magicka with it. It hurt, a sign that she had pushed her magic too far. If that was two words, could she even manage three?

She noticed everyone staring at her. “What? You’ve all seen me learn a Word before. That is why we came down here.”

Flutheim snorted. “I haven’t. You’ve got quite a pair of lungs for a little thing.”

“Yeah? Well, you swing a mean sword for an old drunkard.”

He threw back his head and laughed.

.oOo.

The back wall of the main chamber was also a Word Wall, something that Daenerys hadn’t noticed in the middle of the fight. She allowed everyone else to examine the wall while she recovered. Just as before Sofija could feel a vibration, and Ull could make out a whispered muttering with his ear to the wall. Fultheim felt nothing. Once everyone else was done, Daenerys walked up to the Word Wall and acquired a new Shout, **Zun** , or Weapon.

 **Zun** was a command. While Fus and **Yol** slammed out, **Zun** claimed ownership over any weapon. Every Shout was a concept, but **Zun** more than the others. **Zun** was about domination. It was about taking an opponent’s weapon.

All in all, Daenerys was very pleased with Silverdrift. She had mastered a two-word Shout, learned another Word, and it had been very profitable. While there wasn’t anything really noteworthy in the way of enchanted items, between the bandits and the draugr the loot had been plentiful: weapons, armor, food, and gold. They even found trade goods and basic supplies that the bandits must have looted from passing travelers.

However, Daenerys thought the best treasure was Fultheim. Although he still drank heavily and didn’t pledge to her, his attitude became a lot more respectful after seeing her master two Shouts. He was still his usual abrasive self to everyone else, but when she gave commands, he started acting like a second. He would shout at everyone to hop to it and add specific details to her general commands. He also became an even harsher taskmaster to Sophia. While Daenerys was prepared to tell Fultheim to ease up, Sofija never complained, so she let them be. His new attitude even extended to the morning exercise and sword practice drills that Fultheim led. Daenerys knew she was the worst student, but he merely gave her suggestions instead of yelling at her every mistake.

While the Nightgate Inn was a convenient central point for exploring barrows, it was merely a trading post. The merchants and traders had eagerly bought much of her loot from Ironbind, but they were much less interested in the haul she had from Silverdrift. They had too much stock on hand already and not enough time to sell it. She was able to sell some of the goods that she suspected the bandits had pilfered from other traders, but she decided to wait and sell the weapons and armor when they arrived in a city.

Daenerys considered making the nearly four-day trek back to Windhelm to sell. However, after talking with Lief about how much the oxen could pull, she chose to instead purchase two more oxen and keep moving forward. After resting one day at the Nightgate Inn, they continued onward to Korvanjund. The month of Rain’s Hand decided to start a few days early. Heavy spring rains made for a cold, wet, and muddy journey. The first day wasn’t so bad as it was on an Imperial road. While Daenerys had many issues with the way the Imperials managed their Empire, she had nothing but respect for their roads. Despite the heavy rain, they didn’t get stuck once. That changed once they turned off the main road and took the path to Korvanjund. They spent two days slogging through a muddy road stopping frequently to get the wagon unstuck.

While they were working to get the wagon out of the mud Ull blew his horn in warning. Everyone dropped what they were doing and drew weapons. As they did a wave of men dressed in a motley assortment of armor charged over the hill and down toward their position. Faralda disrupted their charge by dual-casting fireballs. Many of them panicked, but the huge brute leading the charge with an enormous maul hadn’t been caught in the explosion. He kept on charging. Daenerys moved up to Shout, but Val and Fultheim both intercepted him. In a brief but intense exchange of strikes the attacker smashed them both, but Fultheim struck him in the knee. He went down and then Val cleaved his neck halfway in two.

“Orcs.” Fultheim spit out blood from a split lip. “They never know when a fight is lost, and because of that they sometimes win. Don’t like them; don’t trust them, but damn they can fight.”

“The others are human. More bandits?” asked Daenerys.

“Most likely,” agreed Fultheim. “The rest of you. I don’t want any more muttering about why Faralda gets to sleep late while we practice and exercise in the morning. She’s a Mistress of Destruction. She’s deadlier than all the rest of you put together. When you can cut through a charge like a knife through cheese, you can sleep in too.”

“Let’s follow them back to wherever they’re camped before they can regroup,” suggested Val.

Daenerys thought about that. “It’s a good idea, but we don’t know what we’re getting into and I don’t like the idea of leaving Lief alone in the cart when we know there are bandits in the area.”

“Always a bad idea to leave your supplies unprotected,” agreed Fultheim.

“Ull and Mikko, see if you can track them back. It’s a scouting mission. I’d like to know where they’re based and how many we’re dealing with. Priority is on not getting spotted and getting back safely.”

By the time they got the cart unstuck and moving again, Ull and Mikko were back. “Found them. They’re holed up inside Korvanjund. Looks like a nasty place for a frontal attack. It’s a crevice. Good part is they can’t see out very well. They have sentries posted where I can pick them off.”

“A crevice,” said Fultheim. “Hmm, anything that would stop Faralda from lobbing fireballs into that crevice after you pick off the sentries?”

“Not a damn thing,” said Ull with a predatory grin.

Fultheim looked over to Daenerys expectantly.

Daenerys got it immediately. He wanted her to give the order. “Mikko, I want you to stay behind with Leif and the cart. Just in case some of them are wandering around outside. Let’s do it.”

.oOo.

Ull only managed to pick off one of the sentries before the rest retreated to the crevice. He took a position from where he could snipe at anyone who poked their head out. Then Faralda lobbed fireballs into the crevice one after another. There were screams at first and then everything got silent.

“They probably retreated inside,” said Fultheim. “I’ll go check it out.”

“No,” said Daenerys with a smile. “I’ll check it out. **Feim**!” As the world went ghostly around her, she charged into the crevice. She found burned and charred corpses, but no one was alive. The Shout ended. “All clear!” she called out.

At the top of a set of stairs in the crevice, they found a door. After a bit of rest Daenerys shouted it open with “ **Fus! Ro!** ”, and her followers charged inside. The fight from there on was one-sided. The bandits steadily retreated deeper into the barrow. Faralda lobbed fireballs into rooms before they charged. The bandits were demoralized and kept retreating. Korvanjund was huge inside and would have been a horrific place to fight a more competent force. Large chambers held multiple levels that would accommodate archers. At several places they had to pass through narrow choke points to progress. However, the bandits were disorganized and fought as individuals. Daenerys stayed alert for an ambush, but they rolled over the remaining bandits.

They found some barriers erected to seal doors shut, and there were no bandits beyond them. Only draugr. The draugr died as fast as the bandits. Unlike Silverdrift they only encountered one trap, a swinging axe trap like in Bleak Falls Barrow. Daenerys used **Feim** to pass through it unharmed and shut it down. Eventually, they came to an antechamber carved with ancient bas-relief ending in a circular puzzle door.

Daenerys tapped at it. “Three symbols: Fox, Moth, and Dragon but we don’t have the claw key. Faralda, any chance we can batter this down?”

Faralda shook her head. “Can you feel the magic coming off it? It is the same as the door in Ygnol Barrow. It is sealed both physically and magically and the enchantments are tied into this tunnel. I’m a mistress of Destruction, not Enchanting. It is most likely rigged to collapse this tunnel if forced.”

Daenerys nodded. They had discussed the possibility of forcing the Nord puzzle door before, but every Nord barrow had been different so far. It had been worth checking. “Very well. Then we’re done here.” She turned and faced her followers. “We wiped out a bandit camp, we gained a lot of loot, and now we know the symbols on this lock. We will return once we acquire the key.” Or perhaps recruit a thief. “You all did well. Gather the loot and we will call it a day.


	29. Chapter 28

#  Chapter 28

Fredas, the 3th of Rain's Hand, Year 202 of the 4th Era

The weather improved on their journey back to the Imperial road. The cold spring rains let up and the sun came out. Unfortunately, the soaked ground didn’t suddenly dry up, so their journey back to the Imperial road was almost as muddy as the trip to Korvanjund. Lief did his best, but they still had to stop repeatedly to free the cart from the mud. When Mikko grumbled a bit, Fultheim told him that if he wanted his share of the loot, he should shut his mouth.

Daenerys felt like applauding. She was much weaker than any of the men yet she was helping. She had noticed the respect given to Jarl Kraldar for taking his turn in the oars. The people of Winterhold also respected him for seizing the throne by challenge. She had learned the lesson. Nords expected more from their leaders. They did not respect leaders who sat on their asses. They respected leaders who were involved. Not that they expected their leaders to share every burden, but a willingness to pitch in and help with the hard work went a long way with Nords. That meant when the wagon got stuck – she helped, even if her contribution probably made little difference.

Fultheim was proving to be a great asset. She had been interested in him because of the reputation of the Blades. She had acquired something she hadn’t realized she needed – a drillmaster. He wasn’t just teaching them to fight better. Fultheim was gradually turning her band of followers into a military force. While she was developing a sense of tactics, she didn’t have the experience to break down the big picture needs. Fultheim took vague commands like, ‘Go scout ahead,’ and turned them into specifics, ‘Go scout beyond that hill, be back within an hour.’ When he disagreed, he quietly suggested alternatives where only she could hear, and he explained the reasoning behind them. While she didn’t enjoy his morning and evening practice sessions, she needed the skills. The travel time lost to practice was well worth it.

Not that Daenerys wasn’t practicing even while they were traveling. She couldn’t practice wards while she walked, but she could meditate on **Iiz** , Ice. That shout had proved to be very useful when she stopped the fight with Fultheim without killing him. However, **Iiz** was lethal to smaller animals. Fultheim was a large man and the cold hardly seemed to bother him at all, a trait that was common to Nords, but varied in degree. She couldn’t be sure without testing it, but **Iiz** would likely be lethal to many men or mer. The spells based upon Shouts were weaker, so she had good reason to believe that the Chill spell she was trying to develop would give her a way to halt someone in their tracks without killing them. That sounded like a very useful spell to master.

Once they reached the Imperial road, they made better progress. Despite having walked up this same road only a few months ago, Daenerys wasn’t able to recognize any landmarks. The land was starting to turn green and the forest was alive with wildlife. Despite the change of seasons, she certainly remembered this stretch of the road. This was the area where the caravan she had taken north had encountered the dragon. According to the traders at Nightgate, the dragon still lurked around, but it mostly hunted the plains surrounding Whiterun.

The end of the forest marked the transition from the Pale to Whiterun Hold. She sent Ull to search south and west for the giant encampment of Blizzard’s Rest. She warned him to be cautious, but to discover if it was still inhabited. Ull was gone for most of a day and tired when he returned.

“Burned to the ground, nothing left of it. I found mammoth bones. Judging by the way they were scattered about, the dragon tore them apart the same way a wolf pack would tear into a deer. However, there weren’t any tusks. Someone must have come through already and looted them, but their tracks were washed away by the rains. I’m pretty sure the dragon raided the camp several times, rather than killing everything all at once, but it’s just a feeling. It’s hard to get a read on something that happened that long ago.”

As they continued south along the road, they encountered scattered villages. The plains around Whiterun held some of the most fertile land in Skyrim, yet it was only lightly settled this far out from the city. When they passed settlements, they were bustling with activity. Farmers greeted spring by busily plowing and planting their fields. As they continued south, they passed a few burned out farmsteads. Daenerys sent Ull to check out the damage. He reported that the attacks ranged from months to weeks ago. That matched well with what the villagers had to say when she could find one willing to talk.

One old farmer was particularly talkative. “The dragon? Yeah, we’ve seen him flying around. He doesn’t seem much interested in crops. He likes meat. He went after the mammoths first and got the giants all stirred up. Haven’t heard much roaring from up north lately. I reckon he’s eaten all the mammoths. Good riddance. Didn’t like havin’ giants for neighbors anyway.”

“And you aren’t worried about him coming for you next?”

The old man laughed. “Nah, he’s a big one. I don’t have much meat on my bones any longer. You lot are in more danger than me. The dragon likes cattle when he can’t get mammoth. He burned up a good many caravans and some farmsteads, but he has a pattern. He hasn’t struck anywhere that didn’t keep cows. This is our land. We aren’t going to let some flying lizard run us off. If he shows up, we’ll just all take cover until he moves on. That’s why I’m out here. I’m too old to help much in the fields, but I can still keep my eyes on the sky.”

Daenerys had heard similar sentiments in short conversations, but this old man was more willing to talk than the others. “Your village keeps sheep,” she observed and pointed out to where she could see them grazing on the nearby hills. “When he can’t find cows, he might start on sheep.”

“Yup, we’ve talked about that.” He took off his hat, scratched his head, and shrugged. “We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. We’ll probably just slaughter the sheep and eat them. We’ve already sheared them. What else can we do? All the good land around Whiterun is being farmed already. Even what isn’t being worked is claimed by someone. We would be thralls to someone else if we left. We may be poor out here, but we’re free. We answer to no one but the jarl.”

“I understand,” agreed Daenerys. She couldn’t blame the villagers for wanting to remain free. She had seen slavery firsthand and the condition of peasants of Westeros. From her perspective there wasn’t much difference. “So, has Jarl Balgruuf done anything about the dragon?”

The old man snorted. “Not a damned thing. Only troops we see around here are Imperial footsoldiers, marching up and down, making sure no Stormcloaks have come sneaking in. I heard he tried sending his soldiers at first and the dragon sent them straight to Sovngarde – brave but dead. The Companions tried as well and ended up just as dead. Still, the dragon mostly leaves Whiterun and the towers alone, so they must have hurt it. Doesn’t do us any good. If the dragon comes, we’ll hide. Not much else we can do. Course, it doesn’t help that half the able-bodied men have run off to join one side or the other of this rebellion.”

“No, I’m sure that doesn’t help.” While Daenerys respected the stubborn determination of these simple farmers, the dragon would come for them sooner or later. So, she offered what little advice she had that might keep him and his village alive. “You know dragons have eyes like an eagle or a hawk.”

He nodded his head. “I reckon that’s so, but what of it?”

“You ever seen a rabbit freeze when a hawk flies by? More often than not, the hawk will soar on by. When you’re that high up, it’s hard to spot things that are standing still on the ground. What you see is movement. It’s the bunny that runs that gets snatched by the hawk.”

“Huh.” The farmer bobbed his head three times. “Huh, never thought of it that way before, but that makes sense. So, you’re saying if we can’t get to shelter, lay down and stay put?”

“That’s better than running around. You might as well wave your hands and yell, ‘Come and eat me’ up to the sky.”

“I’ll be sure to pass that along.”

.oOo.

Late in the afternoon of the next day, Mikko hurried up to report from checking their backtrail. A group of travelers was approaching from behind. This wasn’t the first time that had happened. Oxen could haul a considerable load, but they didn’t exactly move quickly. They plodded along at a comfortable walking pace. Other travelers less burdened had passed them before: some peddlers just walking with their packs, two imperial scouting patrols, and once a messenger mounted on a horse. However, this time Mikko had a tension about him that warned Daenerys that something was different about this group.

“Is there a problem?”

“Yes, there is a problem,” said Mikko. “But I am not sure what you are going to do about it.”

Daenerys frowned at the doubt in Mikko’s voice. “Speak plainly, what do you mean?” It couldn’t be bandits. Mikko would have raised the alarm, not reported like this.

“It’s three Imperial soldiers escorting a prisoner dressed in sackcloth.”

Daenerys squeezed her eyes shut briefly as she remembered being treated the same for the crime of being at the wrong place at the wrong time. “How long until they catch up with us?”

“An hour, give or take. Looks like they whipped the shit out their prisoner. The poor lad is stumbling along, so they aren’t making as good time as they could.”

Daenerys nodded in acknowledgment. She projected a façade of calm, but inside she was shaking. She would never forget the feel of the whip, or the pain of walking on raw and bloody feet. She remembered forcing herself to keep walking because the three strange soldiers would whip her every time she faltered. She still had scars on her back and feet. The wounds had festered and left marks. Healing didn’t cure scars, but the marks on her body bothered her less than the memories. “Run up ahead. Find Ull. He’s been scouting ahead. Pick out a good place for an ambush.”

“Yes ma’am!” Mikko took off running.

“I thought we were staying out of the war,” said Fultheim. He spoke in his usual gruff and abrasive manner.

“As long as there are no witnesses, then we’re still out of the war.” Although she knew that whether anyone saw would be a matter of luck. They could easily take out three Imperial soldiers, but they were no longer in the wilderness. They could easily be seen. Saving the prisoner ran counter to all her efforts to stay neutral in the conflict. However, she would not let this go. “I know it could bring us into the war. I still believe the Stormcloaks should sue for peace, but I will not stand by while they march a man off to be executed.” 

Fultheim scratched his beard and shrugged. “We can try. We’ll have to do it without the Shouting and explosions. Even then there are going to be screaming and yelling. We’re Nords, not the Dark Brotherhood. We can’t sneak up and silence someone without a sound.”

Ull and Mikko came back shortly and suggested a place. It wasn’t a valley, more a dip between two hills, but bushes and scrubs grew on both sides that would provide some cover. It was close enough that they could send the cart on ahead and not have it caught in the middle. Daenerys was surprised by how little reaction there was from her followers. They seemed to be perfectly willing to follow her off this cliff. When she caught Faralda’s eye even her mentor shrugged.

“You have no objection to this?”

“I am resigned to it,” replied her mentor. “I am not eager to fight the Empire, but we have been traveling with a party of Stormcloaks for some time. I liked your suggestion for a peaceful resolution. It might work, but even you have to admit that it would take more than four holds in rebellion to force a settlement.”

“That’s true.” It was the weakness in her plan. One that might have a political solution by swaying the jarls on the Imperial side. Not that her peaceful alternative had a chance as long as Ulfric led the Stormcloaks. Was fate or the gods forcing her to get involved in the war? Or was this just luck?

A league down the road and a short time later, they lay in ambush. Mikko and Ull hid in the bushes to the side of the road. At the sound of Ull’s birdcall, Daenerys, Faralda, and Val started walking north. They came over a slight rise and saw three legionnaires in imperial armor leading a stumbling man by a rope. No, he wasn’t even a man. Daenerys revised his age downward seeing his thin scraggly beard and lean body. He was just a boy. She wanted to lash out with Destruction magic, but she kept a lid on her magic and her anger. No Firebolts and no Shouting. The fight would be loud enough. They had to get closer. They also had to time it to meet them at the bottom of the little gully. She slowed her pace just a bit so they met right at the middle of the ambush.

“Step aside!” commanded the legionnaire in front. It was only when she spoke that Daenerys realized that the legionnaire was a woman.

Daenerys stepped off the road, watching and waiting. As the legionnaire patrol passed, she loudly asked them. “Is the road clear ahead?”

That was the signal. An arrow struck from seemingly nowhere. It lodged in the throat of the woman standing in front of her. Her hands flew to her throat. She made a gurgling noise and fell to her knees. The Imperial wouldn’t live long with a wound like that.

“Ambush!” screamed one of the Imperials.

Daenerys was already in motion. She stepped forward, raised both hands toward the Imperial closest to her, and channeled Flames. The man her fires hit started screaming, but she kept Flames focused on him. She backed up as he charged her. He got one swing off, but she easily avoided it. Then he collapsed and burned under her Flames. She glanced up to see that Faralda had killed the other.

“Get the bodies off the road quickly,” she commanded. “Hide them in the bushes. No looting. We don’t have time.” She softened her tone and turned to the prisoner. “Boy, hold still. I can heal you.” She turned to the dazed blond-haired boy and channeled Restoration. “Steady. Don’t try to walk. Fultheim?”

“I’m here.” The Blade scooped the boy up and tossed him over his shoulder. “Let’s get back to the cart before some farmers muster up a posse to find the source of the screaming.”

If any nearby farmers did rush out to investigate, they didn’t search the road. After a few tense hours, they camped for the night. Only then did Daenerys relax. They had gotten away with it. She’d managed to save the boy without being caught favoring the Stormcloaks. In some ways it was an empty gesture. She’d saved the life of one boy at the cost of three Imperials lives. However, it mattered to her.

.oOo.

The boy’s name was Juhani. He was lean and scruffy with dark brown hair and eyes, and a thin bit of scruff on his chin. Once they let him out from hiding in the cart, he couldn’t stop telling everyone how grateful he was.

“Why did the Imperials arrest you, kid?” asked Fultheim.

Juhani scratched his head behind his ears. “They said because I’m a Stormcloak, but I’m not. At least not really. I did tell Lilja that I was planning to join once the spring planting was done. I know it was stupid, but she looked at me with those blue eyes of hers, and sometimes I say things without thinking, but I hadn’t really decided to do it yet.” He paused for a breath and continued. “Well, then Joni heard of it. He said I didn’t have the guts, and he said it right in front of Lilja! Well, I couldn’t let that stand… You know, I think it was Lilja’s father that turned me in though. He wants to marry Lilja off to Antero even though he’s twice her age!”

By the time he wound down, Val and Ull were laughing.

Daenerys didn’t find it funny. “So, the Imperials arrested you because you merely said that you intended to join the Stormcloaks?

“Well, yeah,” agreed Juhani. “And because of Lilja. It had to be her father who turned me in. But it looks like I’m really in the Stormcloaks now! Do I get a sword and armor and everything? You’ve got plenty in the cart!”

Almost everyone laughed, but Daenerys didn’t find it funny. She killed for this foolish boy whose only crime was bragging to impress a girl. She didn’t regret saving him. The Imperials would have likely executed him. Leaving him to die would have been wrong, but this entire war was wrong. The only ones who really benefitted from it were the Thalmor. Despite not getting caught, she had just made a step toward joining the Stormcloaks that couldn’t be taken back.

She also didn’t have any choice but to let Juhani join them. While he would no doubt promise not to tell, Daenerys was certain that within a week he would be telling everything he knew to anyone who asked. Half a day if a girl asked him. She could either kill him or keep him. So, Juhani joined her band of followers. He was a peasant with no martial skills at all. She didn’t know what to do with him, but she was responsible for him now, so she tasked Fultheim with trying to turn him into a soldier.

Fultheim was not amused.

.oOo.

Two days later they were approaching one of Whiterun’s outlying guard towers when they heard a loud cry disrupt what had been a peaceful morning. While the roar was far away, Daenerys knew the cry as soon as she heard it. “Dragon!”

“Where is the beast?” asked Fultheim.

Daenerys pointed to a speck in the sky that she knew wasn’t an eagle. “There. Male. Young. Oh… It’s the same one I hid from on my way from Whiterun to Winterhold.” Everyone was looking at her, but she ignored them. What to do? She had made plans for a dragon attack, but all her plans had been based on a more sudden attack. She hadn’t expected to receive this much warning. She eyed the guard tower and a plan came together. “Lief! Pull the cart off the road. Now!”

Lief did as he was told. The oxen were clearly nervous. Their ears were up, and they pawed the ground nervously, but Lief got them off the road.

“Now, we abandon the cart.” Maybe they could retrieve it later, but their loot wouldn’t help them fight a dragon. “Lief. We need to get the oxen to the tower on the hill up ahead.” Daenerys pointed to a guard tower that was close, but still several minutes away at a hard run. “Lead them, drive them with a whip. Whatever you need to do.”

“I.. I.. can keep them in the harness, but unhook them from the wagon. They’ll have to run together. We can drive them. We’ll all have to get behind them and run to head them off.”

“Do it! Do it now!” They had never planned for this, but it could work. Four oxen harnessed together would be visible from the air. That would draw the dragon to the tower. They would have the Whiterun guard to back them up. “Everyone, surround them. We drive them toward the tower.”

Lief quickly unhitched them and then hit one on the rump. “Yah! Yah! Move cow!”

The next few moments were tense as the roar of the dragon got louder. The tower was getting closer, but it still seemed so far away. The dragon roared again, and she heard its eagerness for the hunt, but this hunting cry hadn’t been quite as loud. She paused and looked back. They were only part of the way up the hill, but she was still high enough to see across a good deal of the surrounding plain. The dragon wasn’t chasing them. He was heading for a nearby village.

She was safe, as were all her followers. He would raid the village instead, burn their homes, make off with their livestock. Some would escape with their lives, but many would burn. They were too far away to get there in time. If they tried, they would just arrive too late and too tired to put up a fight. All they could do was watch a village burn. She knew this wasn’t the same as King’s Landing. She wasn’t the cause this time. There was nothing she could do… No, there was something.

Daenerys looked at the tower. So close, and yet so far. Sofija and Faralda had stopped when she did. “Don’t stop! Keep driving the cattle. If you make it to the tower, tell the guards to aim for the wings!” She turned back and faced the dragon. She wasn’t ready, but she wasn’t going to watch a village burn today. It was time to live up to the words of House Targaryen, Fire and Blood.

She grabbed a blue potion from her beltpouch. She inhaled deeply and Shouted to the skies. “ **Fus! Ro!** ”

The dragon immediately turned from the village and turned toward her. “ **Yol! Toor! Shul!** ” it roared breathing fire in return.

Challenge Offered. Challenge Accepted.

[Music: Dragon Attack](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=7GxNU-o1apQ)

Daenerys gulped down the magicka potion and ran for her life. The tower was close, but dragons fly fast. She had to be fast, too. She sprinted full out, arms and legs pumping, breath heaving in and out, as she raced for the tower. She saw everyone else well in front of her now. They were almost there, but the dragon was bearing down upon them. She could feel its presence even without turning around. They wouldn’t make it. She yelled out a command they had rehearsed many times. “Dragon Scatter! Now!”

She dived to the ground herself and flattened out. Her chest heaved and her side hurt, but she saw with relief that everyone had done the same. That had been her plan for a dragon attack. Spread out and lie flat. Take advantage of the fact that dragons have good eyesight, but a narrow focus. She had meant the cows to be bait. Now that she had Shouted her defiance, she doubted the dragon would be distracted by four dumbass cows harnessed together. He would be searching for her…

Juhani hadn’t dropped to the ground. The foolish boy was still sprinting for the tower.

Daenerys looked on in dismay. She couldn’t Shout yet. She couldn’t even catch her breath. She couldn’t call for anyone else to attack either. The dragon was coming in on a strafing run. If they broke cover now, she’d lose half her forces. However, as she watched she realized the boy might just make it. His gift for running apparently extended to more than his mouth. Despite her own lack of faith, she found herself praying to Talos, no to Kyne, the Nord goddess of the Wind to help him make it.

If the gods were listening, they didn’t answer. The dragon swooped by Shouting, “ **Yol! Toor! Shul!** ” A long stream of flame swept across the hilltop. The blast caught the cows in their harness and enveloped Juhani in Flames. The young Nord screamed in pain. He had been far enough away not to be instantly killed, the worse for him. His high-pitched shrieks competed with the bellows of the one surviving cow.

The dragon came about and slowed as it returned to the hilltop. Daenerys could guess that he wanted to eat the cows he had just cooked, but he was still looking for the dragon that had challenged him first. Arrows were coming from the tower, but they mostly bounced off his scales. He slowed further and hovered.

“Now!” she screamed.

Arrows flew up from her followers lying upon the ground. Mikko was just supposed to aim for the wings. Arrows in the wing wouldn’t do much damage to a dragon, but it would hurt. Ull was supposed to aim for the wing joints – a difficult target but one of the few places on a dragon vulnerable to arrows. They fired first as planned. Faralda popped up just a second later and two beautiful Ice Spears flew out from her hands and smashed into the dragon from below. The rest of her followers stayed down – presuming they were still alive.

Now it was her turn. This was where she was supposed to Shout at the dragon according to her plan. However, she couldn’t Shout. Not yet. It was too soon. She had Shouted to get him to turn away from the village. The magicka potion had helped but not enough. Instead, she merely stood up, faced the dragon, and yelled loudly in bad Dovahzul. “Daar. Staad. Dii!” This. Place. Mine!

Bad pronunciation or not, the dragon’s head snapped to her. “Dovahkiin! **Yol! Toor! S…!** ”

Flames enveloped her and she was slammed backward bouncing along the ground. The flames bothered her not at all. The force of the dragon’s Shout and hitting the ground hurt, but scrapes and bruises weren’t as important as the Word.

 **Toor** , Inferno, burned inside her. **Toor** was fire all-consuming burning out of control, but it was not out of control. It did not consume her. **Toor** answered to her control. While other newly learned words had fought to be released, **Toor** merely grew hotter and hotter inside her. **Toor** wanted to be set free, but she held it in place. She was Targaryen. Her soul was the match for **Toor**. Deliberately she stood back up. Absently she noticed that her leathers were on fire.

“Daar. Staad. Dii!” she repeated. This. Place. Mine!

Two more ice spears slammed into the dragon from Faralda and the dragon bellowed in pain. It flew up and circled.

“Scatter!” commanded Daenerys, but she stayed standing. Her armor was still burning around her she faced the dragon with hands held high daring it to come from her and ignore her followers.

He came in fast and low, she recognized it as a strafing run. Too high for him to rake her with his claws, but he might try for a swipe with his tail as he passed. **Toor** still burned within her, but she held it. Now was not the time. She knew his Shout was coming and braced herself as much as she could.

**Yol! Toor! Shul!**

The shout smashed into her with heat of a furnace and the force of a hurricane. She was again knocked off her feet. She tumbled and rolled down the hillside before sliding to a stop. However, the pain and the disorientation mattered less to her than the final word. **Shul** , Sun, burned into her soul.

 **Yol** – **Toor** – **Shul**. Fire – Inferno – Sun. Three words that burned within her, and they were glorious. These were Words she had always known! They were just a part of her that she had lost, and now they were rejoined. **Yol** – **Toor** – **Shul**. Three pieces of truth. **Yol** , the consuming hunger of the flame. **Toor** , the rage of a firestorm. **Shul** , the purifying cleansing heat of the sun. Each was fundamental and primal, but together they made a weapon of devasting power. The heat of the sun. The heart of an inferno. Released in fire.

Daenerys stood up. She vaguely noticed that one leg wasn’t fully supporting her weight, but it didn’t matter. She faced her foe. Daar Staad Dii. This was her place. Hers. He would not drive her from it. The world felt distant and out of focus as her enemy spun about breathing fire at the ants on the ground. It was daylight, but the stars were singing to her, singing their songs of hot fiery creation. **Yol** – **Toor** – **Shul**. Her enemy, the dragon that had come to take her place, almost seemed irrelevant. One of the ants fighting her enemy bit back with spears of ice. Her foe turned breathed fire on the ant…

No! Not an ant! That was Faralda! Mentor, advisor, companion, friend. Fear brought Danerys back to herself as the dragon breathed flame upon Faralda. Surprisingly, her mentor stood against the dragonflame, a golden shield held off the flame for a few brief moments. Then Faralda’s ward flickered in front of her, and the shield collapsed. When the flames died down Faralda was nowhere to be seen. Whether she was dead or merely lying somewhere burned and injured Daenerys didn’t know. Rage filled her and the words slipped free, ripping outward as she breathed fire upward at her foe. “ **Yol!** **Toor!** **Shul!** ”

Only once the Words left her did she remember that she was facing a fire dragon. Attacking with fire had been foolish. The dragon was buffeted by flames, but the only harm they did was to his pride. The dragon pulled up sharply into the sky before diving back down. This time he didn’t strafe or hover and breathe, he came all the way down and landed in front of her so he could rend her with fang and claw.

As he came toward her she tried to back up, but walking backward on an injured leg wasn’t wise. She slipped and fell to the ground. Once again, she found herself falling down the hillside. She didn’t slide that far before she recovered. She hurt all over. She had no fight left in her, no magicka left to call upon for healing, just her against a dragon. She expected to see a dragon in her face and feel the bite of its teeth, but if Grandfather could stand and face his death, she could as well. Instead, she saw a miracle.

Everyone was attacking the dragon. Val swung his battle axe and brought it down upon a wing joint, and she saw the joint give way – that was a crippling blow. Ull was rapid firing arrows. Fultheim had out his huge sword. Even the guards that had been hiding in the tower had sortied and joined the fray, all of them hacking at it with their swords.

As Daenerys watched in disbelief Sofija charged forward screaming, “Fire and Blood!” She ran up the wing that Val had injured, leaped, and plunged her twin conjured blades into its back.

The dragon roared and shook like a wet dog. For a few moments, Sofija clung on holding onto the hilts of her conjured blades. Then she went flying. The men kept attacking, and the dragon’s roar became cries of pain, and his cries were getting weaker. He raised his neck up and tried to breathe again, but instead he collapsed. The dragon’s soul flared, and his body burst into flames.

When Daenerys Shouted, she breathed primal magic out into the world bringing it into being. Instinctively, she did the opposite. She inhaled and breathed in the dragon’s soul; she Devoured it. She claimed his soul and made it hers. It was deep magic, pure and primal, like Shouting. Two sides of a coin. Breathing out, Shouting into being. Breathing in, Devouring, making it part of her being. As she inhaled, she consumed the very essence of her foe – **Mir** - **Mul** - **Nir** , Allegiance-Strong-Hunt. She remembered flying in the skies over Skyrim, a monarch of the skies, but not unchallenged. She remembered dueling with dragons and fighting alongside other dragons. She remembered the Allegiance, **Mir** , burning the enemy…

She…

Daenerys blinked. What had happened? She felt like she had just awoken from a dream. Half-remembered images were already slipping away. She looked around at a familiar scene. She was standing in a pile of ashes, the remains of **Mir** - **Mul** - **Nir**. The only thing left of him was ashes and few bones. Outside of the ashes everyone was kneeling to her. Yet, these weren’t the Dothraki of her khalasar. These were her friends, her followers, and also some soldiers of Whiterun. She felt the wind and sun on her body and realized that she was naked except for an amulet around her neck. Hadn’t her leg been hurt? It was fine now. This wasn’t the first time she had walked through fire, but never before had she lost herself. She had Devoured and consumed **Mir** - **Mul** - **Nir**. There was almost nothing left of him. Just a pile of ash and a few bones and the warmth inside her.

“Why are you kneeling?” she asked them.

Fultheim looked up from where he knelt. “Because, the Dragonborn has come.”

.oOo.

[Music: The Dragonborn Comes ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FOkkE93coIg)

Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes

With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes

For the darkness has passed, and the legend yet grows

You'll know, you'll know, the Dragonborn's come

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin Naal ok zin los vahriin

Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal

Ahrk fin norok paal graan

Fod nust hon zindro zaan

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal

Our Hero, our Hero, claims a warrior's heart

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes

With a Voice wielding power of the ancient Nord arts

Believe, believe, the Dragonborn comes

It's an end to the evil of all Skyrim's foes

Beware, beware, the Dragonborn comes

Dovahkiin, Dovahkiin Naal ok zin los vahriin

Wah dein vokul mahfaeraak ahst vaal

Ahrk fin norok paal graan

Fod nust hon zindro zaan

Dovahkiin, fah hin kogaan mu draal

I tell you, I tell you, the Dragonborn comes

.oOo.

End Book 1

Dovah Queen: Dragonborn Rising

The saga of Daenerys Targaryen in Tamriel will continue


End file.
